Snow and Ice
by xxsewnlipsxx
Summary: Once upon a time, a maleficar had stopped the blight. Afterwards, she'd left for the colder North, leaving love for a life of loneliness and wandering. No one was to look for her. So why was Alistair calling her back? Zev/Surana
1. Blood and Snow

**Title: Snow and Ice**

**Rating: Mature**

**Warnings: Sexual content, minor language, violence, blood, use of alcohol**

**Summary: Once upon a time, a maleficar had stopped the blight. Afterwards, she'd left for the colder North, leaving love for a life of loneliness and wandering. No one was to look for her. So why was Alistair calling her back? Zev/Surana**

**(I changed her name from Thyme to Elda bc that's what I usually name my characters. Sorry for the confusion)**

* * *

Those nights we walked together

I couldn't sleep

Well I still remember what you wore now

It was the cold December air

The way the rain hit your hair but then...

I woke up from a dream I can't repair

And then realized

How far I'd finally come.

-Aiden, _Cold December_

* * *

"Rinna, watch yourself," the maleficar warned the snowy-haired child, grasping the folds of her daughter's cloak before the six year old could topple over onto the hard ice once again. "The ice is slicker in these parts, you remember?"

"Yes, Mommy," Rinna replied dutifully, reaching up to grasp her mother's frozen fingers. The wolf fur gloves were coarse but warm.

They were just over the southern ridge, entering the flatter plains where more rain than snow fell. Elda could see the mountains far off in the distance, capped with white dust. The winter had been harsh, and there was very little to eat on the plains. She glanced over at Rinna and flattened the girl's unruly hair. If the winter continued to billow them with snow and take the lives of animals they so needed to survive, she would have to risk a trip into town and buy supplies. Humans were distrustful of an elf from the start, let alone a wanderer who had the tattoos of a Dalish and the staff of a mage. There were some who could smell the blood magic on her, and she risked bringing the templars down on their heads again. Going into town for food would have to be a last resort. She hoped they could make the sea before the short amount of food in her pack was gone.

The sun was just setting over the horizon, casting them in an orange hue. Ice sparkled and winked as the last bit of daylight bled beneath the earth. Elda stopped suddenly, ice blue eyes scanning the horizon for a campsite. Rinna skidded on the snow.

"Can we camp next to the mountain again, Mommy?"

"Not tonight," Elda replied. "The wolves are hungry this time of year, and we can't risk it again." She fingered her bandaged ribs.

She shifted the pack at her side, the strap cutting into her shoulder. They would need to find shelter quickly and make a fire. Her pelts were wet from the day, and she had every intention of cooking the hare she'd caught earlier into a warm stew to heat them up for the cold night. A burning sun had melted bits of the ice, making it slick, but the scent of precipitation was heavy in the air and would likely freeze to add new layers in the morning. Travel would be rough.

Syn, her mabari hound, trailed up behind them, tongue lolling out. He whined and lapped at the open gash on the palm of her hand. Smiling down at him, she re-wrapped it as it had come undone. There was blood on the white bandages. The recent wounds were from the night before when she'd had to defend herself from a bunch of hungry wolves, resorting to blood magic. She began walking again, trusting her daughter to keep up. "I know of a spring in these parts. I used it when you were just a baby. The cave was near a Dalish tribe."

"Won't the Dalish hurt us?" Rinna asked, clutching her hand even more tightly until pain welled up through the cold.

"Not if we leave them be," was her reply, and they trudged on.

The toddler didn't mind the harsh climate so much. It was a good thing, but expected. After all, Elda had been in the frozen lands since Rinna was a babe. They had both grown thicker hides against the icy wind. Of course, Elda's body temperature had always been low. She could remember Alistair jumping whenever she touched him, complaining of the cold. Leliana, too.

Elda helped Rinna leap over a crack in the ice. Syn barked behind them. It was hard to believe that six years had gone by so fast. Six years since she'd been a true grey warden, scrambling to save Ferelden, a bastard king attempting to charm her. Those nights in the camp often weighed on her mind in the beginning. Alistair's jokes, Zevran's quick skill with his tongue and knives, Leliana's bardic songs, Sten's silent demeanor, Morrigan's fire crackling in the distance, the gentle baying of her mabari hound at night. Wynne's superior council. Ogren's foul stench and vulgar jokes. She missed them a great deal in the beginning. But as her belly had grown, she knew she could not go back. Could not have the child and leave it to the wolves as she'd originally planned. No, the fair-haired baby with charming, stern blue eyes reminded her too much of herself and of Rinna's father.

With the help of the Dalish, the mage had managed to have Rinna safely and see to it that she received medical care. In her time with them, she'd learned many skills. They'd danced and sang around fires at night. For a long time, she had a place to belong. For two years in fact. Then, one night, she'd disappeared into the wilderness with the baby. After two years of fun and dancing and friendships and lacing tattoos, Elda had disappeared to live on her own. It had become harder to hide her magic from the other elves. Of course, the keeper had known that she was maleficar. The keeper had accepted her. But only on the terms that she not use magic in their presence and she keep it hidden. When a young girl had stumbled upon her spell books and staff one night, Elda had left the very next day, Rinna soft and warm in her arms. She had wandered the wastelands since, where she would always be until the nightmares came back.

What would she do then? Hope that the world showed more kindness to Rinna than it had to her. Hope that she had been able to teach her apostate daughter all she could before going to Orzammar. Hope that Rinna had a defiant soul like her greatest friend Morrigan, and would stay well away from the Circle and it's rules. Hope that Rinna could find freedom where her mother could not.

Elda was still bound by the rules of the Circle in her mind, even though she'd become exactly what they feared. She was cold, ruthless, and used blood magic to suit her own ends. She often conversed with demons and found them better company than most humans. While ransacking the tower and looking for Morrigan's grimoire, Elda had learned how Uldred and Irving used to trick the mages, seeing which ones would be most likely to go for blood magic and turning them Tranquil before they had the chance. She could remember Zevran nodding silently in the background in understanding as she crashed her left hand into the sharp glass of a mirror. She could remember him dressing it as she cried in anger and fury and pain. The hatred for Irving still burned like a flame in her insides, threatening to destroy her. She had trusted him, a human, and he had betrayed that trust and the trust of so many other children. It had taken all of her will power not to throw him from the tower that day.

Just as they rounded another mountain of snow, Elda paused, seeing the mouth of the cave gaping and inviting them inside. A snow flake fell on her nose, and she glanced up. "Come on, Rinna," the maleficar said, holding out her hand to the child. She lifted all thirty-three pounds of the child into her arms and began to move over the ice with quickened steps. It would be dark soon, and curious things lurked in the dark.

She remembered it like an old friend. With the constant snow and rain, freezing and unfreezing, she wondered how the faithful cave hadn't yet been buried. It was made entirely of ice and stone, water dripping from the ceiling. Like most things in the cold wasteland, it had no distinct smell. Algae couldn't grow, moss often died, and the scavengers would take care of any rotting animal that happened to pass away in the cave. So, when she inhaled, wishing to get a scent of trees or maybe spices of the tower she still managed to remember after all the years, her disappointment was met with a burning sensation in her nose from the frigid air.

"Can we light a fire?" her daughter asked in that tiny, elven voice. Elda placed her daughter on unsteady feet and smoothed back the blonde curls.

"Yes, but only for tonight. The blizzard will cover the glow." She moved away as she spoke, pulling dried bits of timber from her pack and placing it in a teepee shape.

Rinna glanced at the mouth of the cave and furrowed her brow. "But it's not snowing."

"Not yet," was her simple reply.

She built up the fire fairly quickly and crept to the back of the cave for a dip in the icy spring. Pulling off her warm furs and robes, the cold made every hair on her body stand up. Elda was almost twenty-six by that point but hardly looked any older. Tattoos and scars covered every inch of her body. Flowers burst across her arms and legs. Blue ink encircled one eye. They were Dalish in origin and very elaborate designs. The Dalish often used tattoos to mark specific events in their lives. Similarly, every tattoo on her body meant something to her.

After bathing both herself and Rinna, with much reassurances and trembling, they both rested by the fire.

She took out a bit of dried meat for the child and herself. It was old and didn't have the same spicy taste as it once did, but it was all she had. Rinna didn't complain. The fire warmed Elda's bones. Soon, after Rinna had chewed her dried food and finished it all, the child crawled into her arms and snuggled close. As an elf, she was light. Her heart beat faster than a human's, rapid like a humming bird's wings. Nothing in the snowy expanse had a scent except for dead bodies, but her daughter...her daughter had a smell. Sometimes, Elda thought she smelled like _him. _Other times, the child had a spicy aroma that reminded her of the tower. But truthfully, her scent was her own and buried deep beneath her skin. Sometimes, Rinna was all that kept her tethered to the world of the living.

She didn't want to sleep just yet. The demons of the Fade called and pulled at her while she slept, and it was difficult not to thrash about as they battered her body. Being a maleficar was far more painful than she had thought, but it had unlocked unimaginable power. Jowan had shown her how. After experiencing it, she hadn't begrudged him so much for dabbling. Snow fell in heavy, thick drops that were part rain outside. The six year old was heavy in her arms, breathing deeply and slowly. The fire crackled and snapped as it devoured the bits of cloth and sticks she'd pulled from her pack. She rubbed Rinna's back with her fingertips, using magic to warm them up and create friction. It wasn't long until she fell asleep and the nightmares began. Only six years of training kept her from screaming into the cold, lonely night like a wounded animal and waking Rinna up.

* * *

_The assassin tisked. "You're going to the wilderness up North? And may I ask what is there?"_

_Elda did not want to be in Zevran's company at that moment. She'd spent a week in the castle, helping Alistair get used to the duties that came with being king. Doing paperwork, ordering people about, reminding him that she wasn't his leader anymore. Doing paperwork... All of it had given her a nasty headache. She was ready for some fresh air. To be away from the stuffy confines of the castle's interior and the bowing, scraping servants with their cheeky smiles and wandering eyes. She wanted to be away from the uppity people who visited Alistair. To be away from their snide insinuations._

_"An elf in the castle!"_

_"Do you think the king has a mistress already? The shame! And it's an elf, too!"_

_"She is the Hero of Ferelden."_

_"Just because she is a hero doesn't mean she can visit any bed she likes! Oh, she'll think she'll be queen next!"_

_"This elf will make them all restless. Can't she see what she's done? Tipping the balance like this! They should know their place."_

_Elda gave him a stern glance. "I'm leaving, and you can't come with me."_

_"My dear," Zevran said, palms digging deeply into the quilted bed as he leaned over, nose nearly touhcing hers, "I _will _go with you."_

_"No, you won't," she said huffily. "Look, I just need some space. Some...time apart. Away from you and Alistair and this place."_

_There was hurt in his eyes, she saw. Ever since he'd given her that damned earring, this had all been so much harder. At first, sex had been fun. Then came Zevran's final separation from the Crows. Then the whispers of love and devotion. Now this. She cared for him deeply. But...Zevran was free. She'd once had her freedom taken away when they stole her from her family and shoved her in that dreadful tower, and it hadn't been her choice. Then, she'd been drafted by the Grey Wardens. Again, not her choice. Every chance of freedom she'd ever had had been taken away. No, she wouldn't steal his away. Not with this._

_"Zevran,"--the full use of his name made him flinch-- "stay here. I'll come back. Help Alistair. I-I just need some time."_

_She wasn't coming back. He saw this. Zevran stepped around her case, grasping her tiny hands in his. His broad shoulders slumped. _

_"Elda, you've helped me redescover love. You reawakened something in me that I'd thought long dead. My heart," he said simply, taking her petite hand and pressing it to his chest where his heart beat steadily. "I do not want to lose you, but if it is what you want, I will stay here. I will wait for you. For as long as it takes."_

_"I love you, Zev," she said, for she knew it would be the last time she said it for a long time. Maybe forever, depending on what she decided._

_He took her arms and laced them about his neck, lips claiming hers. "Then, stay with me tonight. One more night," he murmured, pressing her hard against him. She surrendered, hugging him close._

_"One more night," she agreed._

_In the morning, she had crept out of the castle without warning. A note was left on the table in both Alistair's room and her own for them both to see. No one was to follow her. Ever. If she came back, it would be on her own terms._

* * *

There was a noise outside, the gentle scraping of a horse's hoof as it trailed across the frozen ground. She jerked awake, careful not to wake her daughter. Shifting Rinna aside gently, Elda was on her feet in moments, staff in hand. With a few whispered words, she smothered the fire in ice, eyes glowing in the darkness. Too loud and hard to be a wolf's paw trailing across the ground. She crept along the floor of the cave with the skill of one used to such slippery terrain. Tiny flakes caught on her eyelashes as she peeked around the cave wall.

Four men, two on horses, stared back at her with swords raised. Templars.

One of them emerged from the snow out of nowhere and struck her hard with his sheild. She went down, falling on the cold, unforgiving ice and dropping her staff. When he glance down at her, she barred her teeth, blood seeping between her gums. His face twisted in anger, and he cocked back his arm, intending to run her through with the sword. She rolled to the side just as the sword sunk deep into the icy surface and lifted her hands to the sky. Ice was her element. They were on her land, in her element, and none of them stood a chance.

She froze one of them just as he got close and shot a ball of lightning at him, shattering the glass sculpture into a thousand tiny, bloody pieces. A man with a limp closed in, a dagger scraping her arm, blood welling. She grabbed him around the throat and burned his skull with the palm of her hand, shoving him toward the horses. Seconds later, the poor man exploded, coating her with blood and getting drops of it in her mouth. She relished in it. It had been so long since she'd fought against real, breathing men. The animals were fun, but this...this was a chase. Working and surviving against creatures that could think critically, not just lash out with their teeth was what got her blood flowing.

Another fell, and another. Each succumbed to her spells, coating her with rich, metallic blood. When a man began to scream, she paused, mind in a blood haze.

"Stop! Please, stop!" he pleaded over the wind. Dismounting, he approached her and kneeled, holding out a scroll. "It is from Alistair, the king of Ferelden."

Shock flooded her skull. She grasped the scroll with bloody fingers and opened it up.

_Dear Elda Surana,_

_Look, I know you said that we shouldn't look for you. If you were going to come back, then you would come back on your own terms. I've abided by that for eight years now. I would leave you alone, but we have a huge problem going on here in Ferelden, and I just caught word of your whereabouts. Please, come back to us, just to check in. I need your help. Leliana, Zevran, Wynne, and Oghren are here as well. I _(there were several scratched out words after that) _I don't want to tell you in a letter. That seems so impersonal. Just...we all miss you. We don't want you to come back just because of this problem, Elda. Please, we need your help. We can't do it without your leadership._

_Sincerely,_

_Alistair, King of Ferelden_

Maric's insignia was pressed into a soft waxy substance on the seal. She glanced over at the cave, the blood on her hands, her daughter's round, startled face, the pleading man in front of her. She saw Rinna's face, Zevran's face, and a knot formed in her stomach. No, she couldn't go back. Not without letting Zevran know of her. Not without either letting him think she betrayed him or taking away his freedom.

"Alistair, you always ask too much of me," she whispered into the cold, frozen night air. With her daughter watching, though the thought of Rinna seeing such carnage made her close her eyes in pain, she bent down beside the kneeling templar and picked up his sword. With a determined swing, she sliced open his throat and watched as the blood sprayed across her furs. "Not this time."

She crumpled the note and threw it into the snow, eyes glowing a bloody red.

* * *

**Sorry if there's been a constant tattoo theme in my stories, lol. I just got a bunch of spider lilies on my left shoulder all the way up from my elbow. They're so amazing. I love tattoos.**


	2. Blood Magic

**Title: Snow and Ice**

**Rating: Mature**

**Warnings: Sexual content, minor language, violence, blood, use of alcohol**

**Summary: Once upon a time, a maleficar had stopped the blight. Afterwards, she'd left for the colder North, leaving love for a life of loneliness and wandering. No one was to look for her. So why was Alistair calling her back? Zev/Surana**

**Author's Note: Rewrite two is up! Yay! We're almost back to three chapters, where I decided to rewrite. Thanks for reading. Review, plz.**

Blood Magic

Chapter 2

"Hey, honey, don't you look lonely?" It was an elf that addressed her. Deep in the bowels of the city she currently resided in, hundreds if not thousands of elves sold themselves to strangers on a daily basis to feed their children or simply survive. The elf speaking was a female, average in looks if not pretty. She had a slim waist, long eyelashes, and dark black hair. Her eyes were a dull gray. Elda ventured that she didn't have many customers. She'd passed at least six different prostitutes on her way to the shop that had twice her amount of beauty.

Smiling dangerously, she drifted closer to the breathless girl. "Well, I might be interested. How much does a pretty thing like you cost?" Up close, she could see that the girl wore a powder type of makeup. Her eyes were outlined in charcoal.

Suddenly, she was all business. "Two sovereigns, if you got it."

Elda wanted to scoff but didn't. The girl might have taken it the wrong way. Two sovereigns was not much. She'd once fed a sovereign to Syn just for the hell of it. Well, on Oghren's request. Pursing her lips, she produced a pouch and dropped it in the elf's hand. "I'll give you ten sovereigns right now if you go back to the Griffin's Lodge and wait for me in room six. Later, I'll give you twice this much. If you keep our deal, that is."

Eyes wide, the girl nodded.

"Good. Now, go. I'll be there shortly." She watched the satin dress of the whore disappear around the corner and felt a flush of shame. It was one thing to murder an older person but another thing entirely to murder a young girl. But she needed fresh blood for the spell she was going to cast. Brushing off the thoughts that plagued her, she began to poke around at the alley.

It was a door marked in dark letters. Rather small for a shop, she avoided it at first, opening a few more doors to hovels and apothecaries before finally going back to the black door and turning the handle. The scent of magic was nearly overpowering. Thick fog, purple and choking, poured out of the doorway. She had to nearly fight her way inside. Walking around in a maze for quite a while, barely glancing at the various jars on the shelves, she at last came to the bar. Jowan gave a shout and dropped a plate on the ground.

"Maker! Elda! What the hell are you doing here?" He backed up clear into the wall, hitting his head rather hard.

She swayed closer to him, delighting in the way he trembled, and ran her fingertips over the pots and pans laid out in a row across the bar. "Someone tells me you've been doing dark magic, Jowan."

"Oh, Maker! You're here to kill me, aren't you?" he cried, attempting to disappear into the wall behind him. She was very close to him, her breath smelling of cherries and other fruits. Her arctic eyes bore into him. A finger danced down the front of his robes.

"I told you I would find you eventually, didn't I? That I was simply giving you a head start?" she smiled with pointed teeth, playing with a strand of his dark hair. A bead of sweat slid down his face. His heart beat alarmingly fast.

"Y-yes, but I-I didn't think—It's been years! I—" he sputtered, moving away from her and immediately bumping into a support beam.

"Didn't think I'd come after you? Humph! You underestimate me. Just as you did in the tower."

He swallowed thickly as her fingers became alight with flames. Maker, was he to die so young? "Y-Yes, I betrayed you! B-But it was so long ago, can't you forgive me?"

Suddenly, all the seriousness went out of her eyes. The flames died. She pursed her lips. "I can forgive, but I never forget. I said I'd come to kill you one day, and I meant it. Sadly, today is not that day." Then she shot him a wolfish grin that scared him worse than before.

"You nearly gave me a heart attack!" he exclaimed, fumbling over the potions he'd knocked over. While she shook with raucous laughter, he glared.

"Oh, Jowan, lighten up! You're going to live today, isn't that a cause for celebration?"

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, yes, I'll just jump for joy. That was a cruel trick."

"My specialty," she smiled.

"What are you doing here if you're not here to kill me?" he demanded harshly, turning

"Watch your tongue," she snapped. "I can still kill you." A part of her enjoyed the stiffening of his spine and the fear flickering in his eyes.

"Uh.." he stumbled over a book on the floor.

Scoffing at his weakness, she pulled the staff from her back and thumped it on the table. The dragonbone wasn't light. "I ran into some templars recently. They managed to crack both my pride and my staff. I thought at first that it was broken in two and had to be replaced, but it simply needs repair."

"Which, your pride or your staff?" he muttered but began pouring over the staff, tapping here and there for cracks. It radiated cold and hurt his hands.

Narrowing her eyes, she said, "Can you fix it or not?"

He sighed. "I can fix it, but it'll take me at least a day."

"And how much would it cost?"

"Ten sovereigns," he said, and then thought for a moment. "Or my life and you get it fixed for free."

She smirked. "Cute, but no. I'll give you twenty sovereigns, and you fix it in half the time."

He blinked. "Just because you pay me more doesn't mean I can work any faster! It'll take a day _at least_. I need supplies. Plus, the risk to the templars if they get the scent of magic while I'm doing this."

Something bubbled in the other room. Incense and cheap wine made up his scent. She reached over the bar and grabbed a fistful of his robes. "Listen to me, Jowan. I have to cast a spell here tonight for a reason that is absolutely none of your business. You don't need the details, but it requires blood magic. You understand? The templars will get wind of it the second it happens. _So I need my staff._"

He swallowed. "You can't be serious! There are hundreds of apostates in this city. You'll kill us all!"

Bloodlust flickered in her eyes. His breath caught in his chest. The woman he had once known was never so ruthless. His friend had never been so uncaring. "If only," was her reply. Slowly, her fingers loosened about his robes. "Fix it. Or it will be you they catch tomorrow."

With that she left in a swish of black robes and white wolf fur. He had no choice but to comply. After childishly throwing a flask of smoke at the doorway after she left, and glaring at the staff for a few moments, he sighed and began rummaging around the messy shop for his tools. His life depended on it.

* * *

Rinna was asleep when she got back to the inn. All for the better. After taking down the templars, they'd had to increase their pace by ten-fold. She had no doubt that if it was urgent, Alistair would send more of the bastards to find her. And it was urgent. He wouldn't have demanded she return otherwise. Rinna wasn't used to being on the run as Elda had been very careful never to expose her to that kind of life. Besides that, even if the templars had come in peace in the first place, they had probably smelled the blood magic on her. Sensed it. Whatever. Any templar that cornered her would know she was a maleficar. They would kill her.

"The only reason I was able to hide it from Alistair is because he is completely incompetent," she muttered while pulling the moth-eaten blanket over Rinna's shoulders. She had made sure to distract him enough that he didn't focus on his templar training. Instead, she trained him to be a berserker and a reaver, skills that were more forceful and powerful anyway. She didn't like the idea of having a really powerful templar amongst her close friends. Especially such a moral one.

Shoving a piece of bread into her mouth, she crept to the door and shut it, sliding the bolt home. With spells and wards all over the door and floors, no one would be able to approach without her knowing. Rinna was asleep. Midnight was approaching. She glanced at the prostitute, knocked cold on the floor, hands bound. To kill her while she slept would be merciful anyway. The white sand pentagon was already drawn. She sank her pointed teeth into the flesh of her thumb and tasted copper.

She began to chant in a language that sounded like crackling flames. Squeezing her thumb so that drops of blood fell on the pentagram, she bent down to grab the knife. A sacrifice to the demons would ensure her power was at its zenith if the templars came around. She couldn't cast a simple cloaking spell. Templars were very good at finding those as if it was a beacon rather than a hiding mechanism. It hurt no more to kill innocents for power, to protect the life of her daughter from a prison sentence in the tower. She raised the knife over her head and brought it down straight into the heart of the prostitute.

The girl's eyes opened. Mouth twisting in a silent scream, she writhed as a black light enveloped her. Demons from the Fade whispered in the maleficar's ear. She closed her eyes, chanting loudly and more quickly. The fire in the corner leapt up to lick at the top of the fireplace. It cast shadows over the entire room, cloaking it in orange light. The scent of blood, coppery and salty, had adrenaline running through her veins. Then, the demon came through.

Where the prostitute had resided was a thing of light and power. With no coherent outline, the light seemed to bubble and writhe in the silhouette of a human. Bluish designs ran up the length of its white arms, swirling and moving as quickly as her heartbeat. It had no face. A large staff rested across its back. On the expanse of its white head, a tiny slit in the shape of a mouth moved as it spoke. The voice wasn't loud, more of a whisper.

"You call?" it rasped.

Getting shakily to her feet, drained of a good quarter of her power, she wiped the silvery strands of hair from her eyes and checking to make sure her daughter was still asleep. The apothecary had assured her the sleeping draught would guarantee six hours of uninterrupted sleep. The child would be nearly comatose. Still, Elda worried.

"I did," she said wearily. The creature's mouth twisted in an ugly smile.

"A maleficar. When was the lassst time a mage called one of us forth?" Amusement was clear in its voice.

"The Tevinter Imperium used you as soldiers," she answered quickly. "That's not the point. I brought you here to make a deal, demon. I think you'll be quite interested."

"Oh?" it hovered nearer to the outline of the pentagram.

"Yes," she muttered, stepping closer. The power it emanated was intense. "It was I that offered you that girl."

"Did you? Yesss…" it hissed. "Such a young life. You have my thanksss…"

"I want more than that," she declared. "Templars are coming for my family. I offer to make a pact with you, demon. Once I year, I will give you the life of a young human. In exchange, you give me your power."

Laughter, clear and high, rang out in the room. The second it started, she felt electricity crackle between her fingers. She raised a palm, the beginnings of ice crawling across the pentagram. The creature choked and roared. "NO!" it shouted. She stopped immediately.

"You disrespect me," she said slowly, ceasing the ice only for a moment. "I can simply kill you and take your power. I offered to make a deal instead."

"Yesss!" it acknowledged, nodding its ethereal head. "Your offer wasss entertaining, mortal. Never hasss a mage in this century had sssuch audacity. I sssense great power from you."

"You will taste it if we do not finish this soon. My offer stands. Do you accept?"

It stretched its arms, long fingers spread. "Do you not wish to converse?"

"I know better than to converse with demons for long," she replied. "Your kind has a way with trickery."

Catching itself before it could laugh again, it whispered, "Great power, indeed. Using demonsss to your advantage but wisely."

"Exactly," she said, and outstretched her hand.

The creature had a bemused air as it took her elven hand and shook. Elda had to bite her lip so she wouldn't scream.


	3. Escape

**Title: Snow and Ice**

**Rating: Mature**

**Warnings: Sexual content, minor language, violence, blood, use of alcohol**

**Summary: Once upon a time, a maleficar had stopped the blight. Afterwards, she'd left for the colder North, leaving love for a life of loneliness and wandering. No one was to look for her. So why was Alistair calling her back? Zev/Surana**

**Author's Note: And we are back to where we began. Thank you for reading. Review, please.**

* * *

_\When all you love is on the line_

_Your spirit's bleeding_

_Incomplete and blamed for immorality_

_(Blasphemy)_

_So you're breaking with tradition_

_In this godforsaken land..._

-Blasphemy, _Cinema Bizarre_

* * *

Chapter 3

The pain was unreal. As if she'd just been thrown into lava, heat exploded across the white expanse of her skin. It was as if her bones were being charred, flesh dripping like hot plastic onto the floor. She had never made a deal with such a powerful demon. The difference of power was astonishing. The tattoos on its arms reared up like snakes ready to attack. In a way, they did attack. Each one latched onto her flesh and crawled across her own arms, wriggling until they crossed into the same pattern. Many of the tattoos she'd gotten came from deals with demons. Newer, these were a light blue, practically glowing with magic and energy. Even as the demon retracted its hand, she fell forward on her hands and knees, dizzy and nauseous from the sheer experience.

"Gah," she groaned, unsteadily getting to her feet.

"Ssstrange," it hissed, staring at its hand, which shifted in and out of form. "You are...more powerful than I would have thought."

"I," she gasped, "could say the same." Then she noticed its shape.

The creature seemed confused, the bubbling, white-hot substance that made up the being did not seem to know what to do. Collapsing in on itself over and over, the demon couldn't quite maintain the same humanoid form. "What are you?" it asked.

"An elf, nothing more," she replied simply.

"An elf..." it echoed. "You are more demon than human. I can sssee it in your eyesss, creature. Truly, a force to be reckoned with."

"I shall take that as a compliment," she muttered while dusting off her robes. Truly, the inn was filthy. Glancing up, she saw that it was waiting patiently. But for what? To be let go? "Since we have a business arrangement, perhaps you could tell me your name...?"

"Ikilai," it inclined its head in a bow. "Four thhhousand yearsss old and yet ssstill captivated by the beauty of a mortal."

She laughed. "Your power is enticing, Ikilai. And your form is...rather spectacular, actually. Unique."

The white, glowing substance stopped shifting at once. Instead, it stretched into the silhouette of a human man, slightly taller than Elda herself. Details began to form as if drawn from some unknown source. Deep blue eyes and a handsome face appeared from the liquid mass. White hair, slicked back, grew from the top of its head. Finely chiseled, Ikilai was very beautiful. Again the demons whispered in her ear. They called for her to join them, for her to join Ikilai, but she was stronger than they knew and resisted easily. Jowan had taught her one important thing in her life. Never answer the demons' calls.

Ikilai bowed. "I am ancient, my lady. It hasss taken ssso long to achieve thisss form." In his new form, when he spoke, a thousand voices all in different pitches echoed the words. Daring blue eyes stared at her hands. The tiny scars all over them often brought attention. She wondered faintly where her gloves were. "Jussst how long have you evaded usss?" he hissed.

"Wha-?" she began, but a knock on the door silenced her. Whipping around to face it, she forgot momentarily how close she was to the demon's pentagram and prison. Ikilai's hand darted out and grabbed hers. He yanked her into the pentagram, catching her as she stumbled.

"Beautiful," he murmured before placing his lips on hers in a searing kiss that had her gasping in both pain and pleasure. His hand, tangible yet seeming to sweep right through her, came to rest on the small of her back. The other grabbed the back of her neck and forced her against him. Wherever he touched was both hot and cold, both painful and satisfying. She found herself moaning against his white-hot mouth and wanting more, but at the same time know that Ikilai was a demon and stealing her essence at that very moment. But she couldn't pull away. She pressed her tiny hands against his chest and felt him pull her closer. She was feeling weaker and weaker. Everything was getting dark. Then he let go, and she fell.

She tumbled down onto the sand, molten at that point and felt it sizzle the flesh of her left hand. Scrambling away in pain, biting down on her lip until she drew blood just trying not to scream, she saw him smile with that handsome mouth of his. His eyes twinkled. She blinked, and Ikilai's entire body disappeared in a puff of smoke. It was all over in a matter of seconds. The hand that was not burned darted to her lips. She felt his molten kiss there still.

"No...you son of a bitch..." The demon had stolen her essence but left her alive. He could find her anywhere. She was bonded to him in ways that a mortal shouldn't be bonded to a demon.

"Miss...?" another knock at the door. "Are you all right in there?"

Pulsating with pain, the hand was practically boiled. It would require healing magic. She'd need her staff, though. "Hold on, please!" she shouted at the door. Leaping to her feet, she grabbed the broom with one hand and swept the sand—it was miraculously sand and not boiling lava any longer—beneath the bed. Closing all of her books before stuffing them into her pack and hiding her mutilated hand behind her back, she opened the door.

The human woman raised an eyebrow and tried to peer around the door. "I thought I heard voices."

Elda smiled. "Yes, I was reading my daughter a book. She seems to have fallen asleep in the middle, though."

"But I heard a man's—"

"Please, Miss, keep your voice down. My daughter is trying to sleep," the maleficar interrupted, casting a glance at the sleeping body of her child. She opened the door just enough for the woman to get a peak inside of the room before turning to face the tavern woman again.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "I'm so sorry. Shouldn't have interrupted. Would you like me to bring you anything?" After seeing Rinna, the tavern lady was quite repentant. She asked over and over if Elda would like anything, but all the mage wanted was a chance to clean her hand and bandage it. She could feel it swell and stiffen behind her back. The scent of burn flesh had her stomach rolling with nausea. If it hadn't been hers, she might not have been so bothered by it.

When she finally managed to shoo the woman away, she turned around and held the hand up in the light to see. Blisters popped up on the skin. It was an angry red color. Elda sighed and began to rummage through her pack for a lyrium potion. She would need energy to save the hand.

* * *

"Your Highness, we've just received word of the templars you sent after Elda Surana," the soldier said. Alistair perked up at once, straightening his spine. He raised his hand and the man rose.

"What is it? Is she coming?"

"Ser, we've conducted a thorough search and requested the Dalish help. We found the bodies seventy miles from the town of Halisk. They've all been killed," he reported.

Wynne gasped. Alistair jumped to his feet, nearly knocking over the boy polishing his shoes. He apologized quickly to the boy and sent him away. Walking down the steps, he asked, "You're sure? Maker, how did they die?"

"Brutally, ser. Gutted, all of them. A few of them were missing their spines. Also, each and every one was drained of blood. Wolves had come for the corpses by the time we got there, but as far as we can tell, they were mutilated before the scavengers began eating." His face was green as he spoke. Clearly it had been gruesome.

"But who killed them? Surely not Elda," Alistair said, perplexed.

"We are...unsure. They could certainly have been killed by magic. There was a man smashed to a hundred pieces, your Highness. But it would require a knife to butcher those men. And a blood mage to use the blood to her favor," he said slowly.

"No!" Alistair denied. "She is _not_ a blood mage. I'm a templar, too, and I would have sensed it. Besides, she didn't have time to call up demons while we were on the road. And Irving wouldn't have let her become a mage if she had a tendency towards blood magic."

Wynne, quiet until that moment, spoke, "There are always a few that slip through. But...I wouldn't have believed it either. She helped so many."

"I apologize, ser," the soldier said quickly. "I didn't mean to insinuate anything."

"No," Alistair sighed. "I'm sorry. Maybe someone else found them. Keepers use magic. The Dalish are abundant in that area."

"And there are other apostates," Wynne offered.

"Yes, ser," the soldier admitted. "But we found something else in the snow." He dug from his pocket a chip off of a silvery staff and the wadded up letter he'd sent her, covered in blood.

"Maker, she couldn't have," Alistair muttered, reaching for it. "Why would she kill these men? There's no sense to it."

Wynne put a hand on his arm. "She is a mage, Alistair. Elda always hated the templars at the tower. All the apprentices did."

"No," he said again. "What about Cullen? Cullen was friends with her."

Wynne sighed. "Cullen was in love with her. He showed that he could be human, but that didn't mean that she liked him anymore than the others."

Alistair turned on her, eyes ablaze. "So, what? You're saying she's a blood mage? I thought you were more loyal than that." He felt remorse flood his gut immediately at the hurt look on her face.

"I'm not saying anything," she said softly. "It wouldn't be the first time an apprentice became a blood mage. Even such a good person. She's been in the wilderness for six years now. People change when confronted with that kind of violence and loneliness."

"She could have attacked them in defense, though, right? And then barbarians butchered the corpses," Alistair asked. He seemed to want to believe it so badly, the soldier could hardly dispute.

"Yes," the soldier nodded. "That is a distinct possibility. And as your advisor said, there are other mages out there. We have no proof that it was the Hero who did this. Bandits might have read the note and crumpled it up."

Feeling much better, Alistair nodded. "Find her. This time, send soldiers. I should have thought of that before. Templars would scare her to death."

Crossing his arms over his heart, the soldier bowed and then exited the throne room. Alistair stomped back to his chair and collapsed in it, hand massaging his temples. "Wynne, she couldn't have done it, right? Elda is _not _a blood mage."

Feeling that honesty was the best policy, she put a grandmotherly hand on his disheveled hair. "She spent a lot of time with Morrigan, my king. But not all blood mages are bad people."

* * *

By the time the pale morning light crawled slowly across sky and managed to shine a portion of itself into the ratty inn, Elda was nursing a headache and feeling rather fatigued. The hand had been saved, the dead flesh replenished, but it still felt as though it was on fire. She sipped at the tasteless tea the tavern woman had brought her, waiting for Rinna to rise. If she didn't arise soon, Elda would have to wake her up. She needed her staff, and they needed to leave.

She wondered faintly if Jowan had fixed it. He had always been a coward and would have likely worked through the night for his life. What he never understood was how useful some people could be. For example, she could have proved to be a very valuable ally had he simply divulged to her that he was in fact a blood mage and wanted out of the tower. Hell, she would have gone with him and learned the art much earlier. And now, he was in debt to her because she let him live. He was living under poor circumstances in constant fear for his life because he had fallen in love and hadn't thought his actions through.

"Love," she spat with disdain. "It gets the best of us."

Jowan had been a good mage. He let stupidity cripple him. But, she glanced over at Rinna, there was something compelling about protecting the one she loved. In that sense, she could sympathize with him. It was the only way she could sympathize with the cravenly mage.

Her hand gave another pang. Nagging at the forefront of her mind was the demon she had called up the night before. It alarmed her that Ikilai had managed to not only trick her into turning her back on him—a considerably foolish thing to do—but also to steal a bit of her life's essence. She could feel it missing, like a gash in her soul. She had been tired and drained. It was foolish to have spoken with him for so long anyway. Once the deal was finished, she should have destroyed the pentagram. Sighing, she heard something stir beneath the quilts on the bed.

Rinna's head popped up, one hand rubbing a sleepy eye. "Mommy?"

Elda glanced up, forcing a smile through the pain in her entire body. "Right here, sweetheart. Did you want something to eat?" She gestured at the small picnic on the creaking table.

The eight year old nodded and reached up with her hands in a gesture that clearly meant 'hold me'. Not sure if she actually could at that moment, Elda got to her feet hesitantly and walked over to the child. "Honey, you remember I hurt my hands a lot?" she said carefully, bending down to slide one arm around the child's waist and hoist Rinna up onto her hip.

Rinna nodded.

"I hurt my hand again last night. So we have to be extra careful, okay?" She sat in the chair, Rinna on her lap, and pulled out a bread roll with one hand. It was still warm, and Rinna took it eagerly.

"Are you gonna die?" her daughter asked suddenly, staring at the bandages mummifying her fingertips all the way to her wrist.

Elda blinked. "No, sweetheart. I'm not going to die. Where did this come from?" she asked, tucking a strand of hair behind the girl's ear. Then Elda understood. "Did you have another nightmare?"

With a mouthful of steaming bread, she nodded. "Uh-huh."

"Oh, baby," Elda comforted, slinking her bandaged hand around the Rinna's lithe body and hugging her close. "Nothing in the Fade can hurt you while I'm here."

Rinna shook her head. "Not the green place," she mumbled.

"What was the dream about, then?" Elda asked, confused. If Rinna ever had any dreams at all, they were always in the Fade. Those dreams frightened her mother. At any moment, her child could become an abomination.

Then she sensed the templars. Hushing Rinna with a finger to her mouth, she cocked an ear to listen. They were downstairs. Several of them. Her heartbeat kicked up a notch despite herself, but it wasn't fear. It was excitement. She swallowed. One of them was questioning the tavern keeper. He had a deep, rugged voice. Rinna gave a sort of whine.

Elda forced herself to her feet, setting Rinna down. "Rinna, we're going to play the game today," she said, digging through the quilts for Rinna's cloak. She returned to the girl and fastened it underneath her chin. Patting her on the shoulder, she stared right into those hypnotizing eyes. "You remember the rules, right?"

"No talking, hold your hand and don't let go," she recited easily, sticking her pale fingers out from beneath the black cloak. Elda smiled.

"Good girl," she said quickly, snatching Rinna's hand into her own. She picked up her pack off the floor. "When we're on the street, you have to walk extra fast. If a man stops us, keep quiet, all right? Mommy will take care of him."

Rinna squeezed her hand. "Will you kill him?"

"Yes."

Opening the dirty window took more effort than she would have thought with an injured hand. With much swearing, she eventually broke the seal and let in the dusty air of the dirty city. She dropped her pack onto the ground outside. It landed with a thump. Then, taking hold of Rinna in her arms, she jumped as well. Traveling with both a bard and an assassin had proved to be useful after all. She landed without a sound, no one the wiser, and plucked the backpack from the ground easily. Swinging it on her back, she set Rinna down and covered her eyes with the bandaged hand, trying to get her bearings. She had to head west in order to get to Jowan quickly. She hoped he had finished fixing her staff. There would be no time to haggle or threaten Jowan with the templars on her tail.

Halisk had a lot of back alleys and a lot of stinking apothecaries. Only one had Jowan's particular taint on it. With the both of them wearing black hoods to hide their faces, no one stopped them. It wasn't odd for a courier to make his or her way through a dirty city on his or her way to another place. One thing that made her nervous was that templars seemed to haunt every corner. They'd definitely caught wind of her excursions that night. Her new tattoos pulsed with pain, bones aching in the heat, hand screaming in agony. When they found the door, she didn't bother to knock. Instead, she rushed in and shut the door behind her.

A blast of lightning shot straight at them. Out of instinct more than anything, Elda crouched, coddling Rinna against her chest, and put her back to the enemy. She threw up a Fade shield before the lightning bolt could do any damage.

"Maker! You scared the hell out of me, Elda!" Jowan yelled, breathing heavily. She noticed he was wearing traveling robes, a backpack slung across his shoulders, too, staff in hand. Every apostate in town was probably making a run for it. All the better, she thought. After all, it was difficult to spot a wolf amongst sheep when all one could see was white.

"Never mind that, now," she hissed, standing up. "Give me my staff."

"It's in the back room," he said quickly. "I suggest you get it and leave. Whatever you did last night alerted every templar in this city. I'm leaving."

"Rinna, go hide in the corner," Elda snapped, grabbing Jowan's arm before he could go. Rinna ran to the corner and hunkered down in a ball, hands over her ears. "I need to remind you of something."

"W-what?" Jowan stuttered, her grip on his arm nearly breaking it.

Fire exploded on her hand. He couldn't help it. He screamed. Flames licked up the length of his arm, charring and bubbling the flesh. When she let go, he stumbled back into a weeping ball on the floor. But when he glanced at his arm, there was no mark. His skin wasn't burned. He glanced at her in astonishment.

"That is what it feels like to have your hand nearly burned off. The next time you give me a bottle of white sand and tell me it is unaffected by temperature, I _will _take your life as payment for my pain. Now get," she jerked her chin to the door. He scrambled to his feet and ran away. "Let's go, Rinna."

Rinna took her hand, and they went into the back room. As soon as she saw her staff, Elda felt a pang of remorse for harming Jowan. He had not only fixed the crack, but also smoothed out the handle. Also, he'd encrusted the top with lyrium sand to offer more power. She took the polished dragon bone staff and ran her uninjured hand over it. It was glorious.

"Mommy," Rinna tugged on her cloak. "The bad men are coming." There was noise outside. Men were shouting in the streets. They must have picked up on her trail.

"I seriously picked the wrong town to do this in," she muttered to herself, sliding the staff into the leather holding case on her back and sweeping out the other door. She paused on the threshold, listening for anything. Very little moved on this side of the building. A man snored in a pile of his own filth. Emaciated but a live, a cat picked through the garbage with its paw. A crow tilted its head curiously at her, gave a squawk, and flapped away.

"This way," she whispered, herding Rinna ahead of her in a swish of black cloth. She missed her wolf fur but couldn't wear it for fear of looking too much like a traveler. As they hurried through the back alleys, Elda clenched and unclenched her injured hand, waiting for a fight. The entire town was filled with chaos. Chickens were loose from the pens. The hot sun beat unbearably on their back. Beggars flooded the streets with their filth, begging the hunting templars for change. A fight broke out in the northern quarter when a templar cut one of the buggers down in midstride. They were infuriated. It was like a bloodhound hearing the drums of a great hunt. She knew they wouldn't be stopped until they found the bloodmage responsible. Even if they had to kill every last apostate they came across and more.

A sword came out to halt her steps as they neared the gates to freedom. Cold steel glinting against her breast made her pause but not look up. She continued facing down, staring at the top of Rinna's cloaked head, fingers tightening on the girl's shoulders. Rinna's hot back was pressed against her legs. If she were to cast a spell, she would need to get her daughter away from the blast zone.

The templars smelled of blood.

"Halt. In the name of the Chantry and the Maker, remove your hood and state your reason for leaving," demanded a blonde templar. He was an older gentleman, his armor shining blindingly in the sunlight. Flecks of grey intruded upon green in his eyes. She reached up a tattooed hand and removed her hood quickly, letting the sun catch her face.

To some, she supposed, she probably appeared very dangerous. Tattoos and other markings (scars among them) wound about her neck like a collar. Her white hair was cropped short and wispy, almost magical in its color. Absorbing the essences of various demons had made her physical appearance change as well. She was young and would remain so forever. Her teeth were pointed like that of a wild animal, sharpened to a point and white as snow. Her eyes were a mix of red and arctic blue, glinting like gems in their intensity. Pointed ears marked her elven forever as did the litheness of her skinny body and tiny face. She was frightening as well as beautiful, and she knew it. That was why she knew they would detain her.

To his credit, he didn't gasp in shock. He simply nodded his head and pointed to Rinna. "The girl's, too."

She hesitated. She didn't like anyone knowing Rinna's face. The man stood patiently, but another templar tapped her on the shoulder. She slipped her fingers under the lip of Rinna's hood and pulled. It fell back to reveal her daughter's incredulous face, staring at the man as if he were the Maker himself.

"Hello, there, sweetheart," the man smiled warmly at her. "We just need to get a few things straight, and you can go on your way. There's no reason to look so terrified."

She would have preferred to kill them and leave, but the blonde man appeared to be completely ignorant or at least trying to be. Adopting a less sharp voice, she stated her business. "Ser, the town is in chaos, and we've no more money for the tavern to stay. My daughter and I must leave soon. I need to find work."

"A likely story," a younger man snapped. He had black hair that reminded her of coal. "Look at this, Rodrick. She's carrying a staff. An apostate, clearly."

Elda tensed.

"Yes," admitted Rodrick sadly, "I'm afraid we're going to have to take you back to the tower, Miss. Your daughter, too." The coal-haired boy snorted, balancing a large sword on his shoulder.

"Just kill them. We're looking for a bloodmage."

"Shut up, Kenneth," the older man snapped. He addressed them. "Do you have authorization to be out of the tower?"

"Yes," was her reply. "I am a grey warden."

Rodrick stared at her as if she'd gone mad. Kenneth laughed out loud, leaning on his sword for support. "A filthy mage a grey warden? And a woman at that! Elf, too!"

"Shut it," a female templar said, slapping Kenneth on the back so that he fell face first onto the ground. "Women can be grey wardens, fool. Elves and mages, too. But they can't have children." She eyed Rinna warily.

"My daughter was born before I became a grey warden," she said quickly. The heat of the sun was getting to her. She felt the compulsion to kill becoming stronger. Others knew she was the one they were looking for. They were coming and coming fast.

Rodrick knelt in front of Rinna and stared into her vacuous blue eyes. "Is it true, honey? Is this woman a grey warden?"

Rinna said something then that made Elda both proud and frightened at the same time. She glanced up at him, a wolfish smile on her face and said, "My mommy is going to kill you."


	4. Roped by a Rogue

**Title: Snow and Ice**

**Rating: Mature**

**Warnings: Sexual content, minor language, violence, blood, use of alcohol**

**Summary: Once upon a time, a maleficar had stopped the blight. Afterwards, she'd left for the colder North, leaving love for a life of loneliness and wandering. No one was to look for her. So why was Alistair calling her back? Zev/Surana**

**Author's Note: ****Thank you for reading. Review please.**

* * *

Tomorrow's turned up dead  
I have it all and I have no choice but to  
I'll make everyone pay and you will see  
You can kill yourself now  
Because you're dead  
In my mind

-_Man that You Fear, _Marilyn manson

Chapter 4

Elda seized the moment of stunned silence to grab her staff and rip it from the leather casing. Feeling the power and adrenaline course through her veins like a drug, she called forth the power of the demon and her own. It intensified with the new addition to her staff. Ice flew from the weapon at an alarming speed, freezing both templars in front of her. The other drew her sword, but Elda stopped the woman's strike with the handle of her staff, smiling all the while. The templar increased the pressure, grunting, but it didn't move an inch. Elda threw her back and swung around with the head of her staff, knocking the woman in the head so hard the skull caved in. Blood sprayed. Then, she turned to the other two and hit them with lightning bolts, shattering both statues as if they were nothing. She stood there panting. Others would be coming. She heard shouts on the catwalks above.

Grabbing Rinna's hand, she began to run. Running was always a last resort, but even with her new power, she couldn't fight off the oncoming horde of guards on their way. She was both upset and grateful that Rinna had distracted them. The number two rule of the game was never to talk. But it didn't matter. She ducked into an abandoned house on the outskirts of the town and whispered a concealing spell. It was much like disappearing for a rogue. She could see both herself and Rinna but no one could see her.

Rinna panted behind her. She closed her eyes and stopped, pulling the child into her arms. It was not the life she wanted for her daughter. In the beginning, she hadn't wanted anything for her daughter. She hadn't wanted a daughter at all. But things had changed. She wanted to protect Rinna if it meant her death, and it probably did.

They hiked for hours in the wilderness. No one followed. Soon, Rinna fell asleep against the soft thrumming of Elda's heart as she struggled through the vines and weeds. She was used to snow and ice and jumping across chasms. Trees proved more difficult to tromp through. She also hated the snapping of twigs behind her. Every time an animal moved, she jumped thinking it might be templars. When the sun finally threatened to sink below the horizon, she could walk no more. The sun was too hot, terrain to demanding. Rinna's body was too heavy to carry. She began to glance around for a suitable spot to sleep for the night, though she didn't welcome the dreams.

A few minutes later, she came across was seemed to be an old camp. The trees were tied together to form a canopy. Leaves and lush grass grew up in a circle surrounded by the trunks. She slipped inside of it and worked her cloak off with Rinna still in her arms. After spreading it out on grass, she gently laid the child down. Rinna moaned a bit and then turned on her side. She didn't move after that.

As the sun went down, Elda gathered sticks to start a fire. The threat of nightmares always had her staying up as late as possible. She wished there were a way for her to never have to sleep again. Alas, every book she checked claimed it was impossible. It was a sad thing. She brushed a few fingers over Rinna's cheek, smiling to herself. Nothing but blood and pain made her smile anymore. The demons were influencing her emotions, she sometimes thought. Then, perhaps she had always been that way. _He _had always said he sensed a darker part to her personality. Not everyone could be full of sugar and rainbows.

She did something then that she had not done in nearly six years. Her burned fingers toyed with the gem in her ear, not quite feeling the smooth surface. The nerve endings were damaged, but if she squeezed hard enough, she could feel it pressing into the flesh. It was a reassurance that _he _still existed, a man she would never forget but would still never call to her mind. The one that gave her a daughter and her own freedom.

She unwrapped her hand and let the bandages fall. Digging in her pack for the new bandages she bought in town, she ripped off a portion and began wrapping it around the fingers all the way to the wrist. She would have to wash it later and then let some air in. She was a bloodmage, not a healer. There was no doubt in her mind that she would never have full use of the hand again. Already the blisters had burst from her vigorous activities that day. The wound simply wouldn't have adequate time to heal.

Sighing, she leaned against the reassuring trunk of a tree and closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of burning wood and trees. Fire crackled. Animals scurried. Her new markings and hand pulsated with pain. Crunching leaves and rough bark pressed into her skin. She adjusted her position and soon drifted off to sleep, wincing as the onslaught of nightmares began again, more terrifying than ever.

* * *

Later that night, Elda was on the brink of consciousness. Sometimes, it was the only way she could get any rest at all. Perhaps it was because she was so tired or because the pain from both the Fade demons and her physical shell had her practically comatose that she didn't hear them approach. She was used to sleeping right side up. Her cheek was pressed into the cool metal of her staff, one arm hanging loosely over the smoothed handle. The soldier could have snuck up behind her and put a boot to her back, shoving her face into the dying embers of the fire. But they were ordered to take her alive. A rogue elf crept up with steps that didn't make any sound. He wound a rope between his fingers and slowly slipped it in front of her neck. He was astonished she didn't feel the heat of his arms or hear the beat of his heart. She was supposed to be very vigilant. He didn't give her enough time to wake up and prove that rumor true. Instead, he jerked the rope hard across the soft flesh of her neck, choking her.

She awoke with a start, fingertips flying to her throat as the rope tightened around her windpipe. The elven rogue yanked her until she was sprawled on her back, dragging her through the grass and leaves. She kicked out, trying to force her fingers between the rope and her skin. Other soldiers surrounded the alcove. There was much screaming and kicking as they took Rinna as well. Elda felt fire form up around her hands. Trying to calm herself, she focused the flames on the rope. The fire was so intense it burned through the rope in seconds. It snapped, sending her flying forward. She somersaulted, hand darting out to grab her staff.

The rogue danced back, his face covered by a black cloak. Two knives were tied to his calves. Her head whipped around, taking in every face. It was too dark to see much. She counted seven soldiers. Then Rinna screamed again as two men grabbed each of her arms and forced her to her feet. Elda flew forward, wrapping an arm around the neck of a man whose back was to her.

"Stop!" she shrieked. Everyone froze. Her hand was poised above his head, lightning crackling. Her fingers were poised like snake fangs ready to strike. "Let her go or I'll kill the man."

He was hardly a man, more of a boy. He smelled of salt and sweat. His fear was delicious, and she drank it in. Her eyes glowed the color of blood. The rogue spoke in a gruff voice.

"We can lose one man. Can you lose one daughter?" he asked.

"Please!" the boy cried. She tightened her hold on his throat, cutting off the oxygen.

"I'll kill you all," she whispered. "Let her go and you walk free."

"We cannot do that," the rogue growled. "We were ordered to take you by force if necessary. You killed the templars, so we assume you will not come in peace."

"You're damn right!" she shouted.

The rogue's fingers twitched. She could almost see the smile on his shadowed face. "Then I'm sorry, Daniel," he said too low for anyone but her to hear. Before she could even think, his hand clasped around the hilt of a dagger and threw it. She used the boy as a human shield as he must have known she would. The dagger sunk deep into the boy's skull, nearly to the hilt and would have gone farther. She took a moment to stare in awe at the blade. No one was that good with a blade except...

A soldier's sword swung at her head. She pushed the dead body at the man, knocking him over, the tip of the sword nearly cutting her throat as she bent back. Another came from the left. She ducked his blade, landing a blow in his gut. Her hand darted out, staff forgotten, and pressed her fingers to his greasy face. Fire crackled. He screamed, the flesh of his face so easily manipulated when heated to hundreds of degrees. When he stumbled back, she let go. He didn't move away, though, and she brought her face toward his, head-butting him so he fell.

She growled in pain when an arrow landed in her right shoulder blade. Breaking it off, feeling the adrenaline numbing most of the pain, she threw the shaft to the ground as a female charged at her. Ducking around the girl, she crashed her hand into the girl's kidneys, sending her sprawling. Rinna shrieked again, and Elda whipped around, throwing a ball of glowing flames at one of the soldier's holding her. He cried out in surprise, immediately trying to beat the flames. Rinna tried to twist free, but the other soldier didn't give her a chance, catching her other wrist and hauling her over his shoulder. Rinna beat at his back but she didn't have a chance.

"No! Rinna!" Elda cried, starting towards her. Clapping from behind though caught her attention. It was a dull, monotonous clap, sarcastic and too loud in the silence. Everyone stopped, even Rinna. They were staring curiously at the rogue. Elda's nostrils flared; she swiped the hair from her eyes.

"My, my, Elda," he whispered, a bit of an accent slipping through. "You were paying attention during my lessons."

Elda froze. That accent, the smug air, the sarcastic lilt to every word. She couldn't believe it. The chances were too slim. "No..." she murmured, taking a step back almost in fear. She didn't want to see him. Didn't want him to see Rinna.

A slim hand, tanned as she remembered, pushed the lip of the hood back. Antivan sun-kissed skin had a familiar orange glow in the burning fire. She swallowed. Zevran grinned with pointed teeth, a darkness surrounding him that she didn't quite know.

"It's been too long, my dear grey warden."

With her attention focused on his face, she didn't see the slight gesture he made nor did she hear the heavy footsteps of a soldier. She did, however, feel the pain as the hilt of a sword as it thudded against her skull. No one missed the sound of her body falling to the floor, especially not Rinna, who stared in despair with tears on her face.

* * *

Elda woke up with a decidedly bad taste in her mouth. It was the taste of blood, of mortality. She spat it onto the dirty floor, glancing up through bleary vision at the details of her cage. It was an aravel, like the Dalish used, empty with bars on the window. It was also very small. Lying in a fetal position as she was, her bare feet and sore head made up the width. Her hands were tied behind her back with expert knotting. The cramping in her shoulders told her she'd been in that position for a while. Her head was thrumming with pain. She groaned when she lifted her head, letting it fall back onto the aravel floor with a thump that dulled all feeling for a moment.

There was a chain connected the bars in the window to the aravel, telling her that she wouldn't be getting out until they decided to let her out. She could hear a fire outside, men laughing. A hound barked nearby. The soldiers were obviously resting. Her hand had been attended to. It didn't hurt quite so much. The wound in her shoulder from the arrow was bandaged.

Panic struck.

Rinna had been in the care of perfect strangers for—here she glanced at the sky through the bars, raising her head just enough to see—maybe four hours. She knew the evils of human men. What if they had...? No, she couldn't think of it. It brought too much anger, too much hatred.

That was another thing that struck her as curious. Despite her anger and fury, no fire formed between her fingers. She didn't feel the pull of the Fade in the back of her mind. Even when she tried to call it to the forefront of her mind, nothing happened. The demons were even leaving her alone. As she tried to think, there hadn't been any dreams while she was knocked out either. What had they done to her?

The first thought was that they had made her tranquil while she slept, but she dismissed that theory as ludicrous the second it took form. She could feel anger and hatred and fear, after all. Secondly, she remembered that the Qunari actually _leashed _their mages to prevent them from doing magic. She felt the metal bar around her neck and cried out as if in physical pain. No magic at all meant she was stuck.

_Zevran_. She would kill him if it was the last thing she did. To betray her like that, to promise he would let her be free and then go back on his word...If it hadn't been for him, she would never have been caught. Seven men she could take down easily, but Zevran had always had a knack for making her falter when it counted.

Elda decided she was tired of laying on her side and tried to sit up. She managed, with much struggling and cursing, to put her back to the end of the aravel and sit with her hands pressed painfully against the wall. Her ankles were tied together, too, she realized quickly. The collar around her neck seemed to choke her at the new angle. Her wounds pulsed. Her head snapped up as someone jangled the chains on the bars.

Suddenly, the door swung open. A dog with painted fur came cavorting in, barking enthusiastically. Syn trotted up beside her and licked her face expertly. She couldn't push him away.

"Syn? What are you doing here?" she demanded, trying to get her hands free to push his slobbering muzzle away. Syn barked exuberantly.

"I thought you could use some company," said a voice in the doorway. She tensed and glanced up, glaring at Zevran. He made himself quite at home, leaning against the door with his arms crossed. Instead of the black cloak of the night previously, he wore hardened leather armor, green trimmed with shining drake scales. The same crow daggers rested at his calves, strapped there with bits of leather. He'd cut his hair in the last six years. Instead of long strands of blonde, it stuck up in every direction like Alistair's. She was sure he wouldn't appreciate the comparison.

"Get out," she snarled. "Kill me or leave me to rot in this cage, I don't care. But I could do without your company."

He tisked. "Is that anyway to greet an old friend?"

She spat blood at his shoes. "We are old friends no longer. You have broken your promise to me, and kidnapped my child."

Zevran was not moved. He retained the same lightness to his tone. "You refused to be summoned. Alistair's soldiers were a bunch of blundering idiots. They'd never have found you. I've been training this particular bunch for over six months now." He cast a glance over his shoulder. "They are not perfect, but they have gotten used to following an elf. This job...well, it seemed a marvelous chance to winnow out the weak."

Lips twisting in a look of pure hatred, she said, "I've no interest in excuses or reasons, but I will ask you this only once, _old friend. _Where is my daughter?"

He raised an eyebrow. A smirk pulled at his lips. "Ah, yes, _Rinna_. I'd never have thought you would cry out that particular name."

"_Where is she_?" she demanded. Syn quailed under the wake of her fury, lying down between the elves. He had never seen his master so angry, especially around Zevran.

With an almost lackadaisical sigh, he stepped out of the way so she had a clear view of the camp site. Rinna was playing with a strange toy by a few soldiers, tongue sticking out of the side of her mouth. A bunch of baby hounds romped around her feet. One of them had chomped down on her cloak and was pulling.

"Do you remember that puzzle box you once gave me? From Denerim, I believe. Rinna has taken a special interest in it," he muttered, gazing at her fondly. "She's almost finished with it. The child is much smarter than I am."

Nearly sick with relief, Elda sank against the wooden aravel wall. "Thank the Spirits," she whispered. She closed her eyes.

Zevran laughed softly. "Did you think we would kill her? Had you not put up such a fight in the first place, everything would have gone much smoother, my dear."

She swallowed. The action was slightly more difficult with the choker about her neck. "You attacked first," she countered.

"Wrong," he said, taking a few steps toward her and crouching to scratch at Syn's ears. "_You _attacked first, my dear. The templars you slaughtered and butchered carried a summoning letter."

"Ah, _wrong_, actually," she snapped. "The templars attacked me first. I only killed them in defense."

To her surprise, Zevran grinned a bit sheepishly. "Well, that might have been my doing. After Alistair ordered them to find you and summon you, I had a feeling you might not come quietly. I intercepted and told them it might be wise to capture and explain later. As we have done here. It proved much more effective the second time around, no?"

"Bastard," she ground out between clenched teeth.

"Speaking of Alistair," Zevran said pleasantly, "he would not appreciate our keeping you in an aravel like a prisoner. So, my grey warden, I wish to ask you. _If _we let you out, will you play nice?" He stood up very tall. She suddenly felt rather small.

"Touch me and I'll bite your hand off," she said before he could even think of undoing her ropes.

"Later," he winked. "As erotic as that sounds, I will take that as a 'no.' Too bad. I could do with some fun in my daily life. We were never short of that when you were around." Funny, he almost sounded wistful.

"When I slaughter you all tonight in your bedrolls, you will wish you had let me alone," she promised, a maddened glint in her eye. He wondered faintly just how much of a hard life she had in the wilderness to have gotten so bloodthirsty so quickly. Of course, he didn't exactly find it unattractive.

He smirked while his back was turned. "We are moving again soon. I pray that you do not get motion sickness." With that, he shut the door. Syn whined softly at her feet, turning his head to the side so it rested against the soft leather of her shoes.

"I hate him," she told the mabari. Syn barked in reply.


	5. Pit Fall

**Title: Snow and Ice**

**Rating: Mature**

**Warnings: Sexual content, minor language, violence, blood, use of alcohol**

**Summary: Once upon a time, a maleficar had stopped the blight. Afterwards, she'd left for the colder North, leaving love for a life of loneliness and wandering. No one was to look for her. So why was Alistair calling her back? Zev/Surana**

**Author's Note: ****Thank you for reading. Review please.**

* * *

_Don't hold me up now_

_I can stand my own ground_

_I don't need your help now_

_You'll just let me down, down down._

_-_Rise Against, _Prayer of the Refugee_

* * *

Chapter 5

The moon was shining brightly by the time they stopped. She let peals of laughter from her daughter lull her into a sort of half-conscious state, gathering energy for the escape plan she had. Fire cast shadows across her aravel. After a few hours of soldiers staring at her through the barred windows and letting Syn in and out, she was beginning to feel like a caged animal at a show. Zevran had stopped by to dump some cool water down her throat and lay a plate of bread by her feet, once again asking if she would 'play nice.' She'd lashed out and bruised his calf, almost knocking him over.

It was hard to figure out their schedule after only a day's time in the cage. They were traveling by day and stopping late into the night as much as she could figure. When the last of the singing died down, the smell of liquor pungent in the air, she started awake.

"Syn," she cooed, nudging his big head with her toes. The mabari gave a gruff snort and rolled onto his side. "Syn, wake up." He lifted his head slightly, staring at her with inquiring eyes.

"I know you can understand me," she whispered fervently. "Chew through my robes so we can go. Rinna and I have to get out of here. You want to go to the sea, don't you?" He whined, getting to his feet. Syn cast a glance over at the door. He was reluctant to leave Zevran, she knew. Though he'd been imprinted on her, Zevran had always taken him on big game hunts. The mabari obeyed as if Zevran were his master. "I know. But, please?"

Shaking himself roughly, the mabari rested his big paws on both sides of her ankles and began gnawing away at the thick ropes. She goaded him on, whispering sweet words. Despite her harsh demeanor, Elda really did love the dog. Syn had been the only living creature she'd taken with her after leaving Ferelden. He was the only one who remembered her part in killing the archdemon and all of her dirty little secrets. She felt the rope give way and spread her ankles apart in relief.

"Good, now my hands. Be careful," she warned, using her freed legs to scoot forward enough for Syn to maneuver around and begin working on her hands. He chewed through them more quickly, covering her hands in saliva. She wrenched them apart and rolled to her feet. Immediately, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him ferociously. "Good boy." Running her hand through his fur, she discovered something unpleasant. "I can't even feel your pretty coat with my burned fingers."

He whined in sympathy, licking her face.

"It's all right; I'm not hurt," she reassured, patting his head and pushing his muzzle away. She paused to listen. Nothing stirred in the camp. Turning back to the dog, she stared him straight in the eye, knowing he could understand her. "Listen, Zevran is a tricky bastard. He's probably set up traps all over camp. I'll grab Rinna. You meet us at the edge of the camp, okay?"

Not waiting for an answer, or expecting one, she crept over to the door and grabbed the piece of wire she kept in her shoe, silently thanking Leliana. It was a good thing the bard had taught her to pick locks. Her burned fingers couldn't feel anything, so she could hardly go by touch. Instead, she squeezed her eyes shut and went by sound. She heard the tumblers one by one, and then caught the lock in her good hand before it could hit the ground. Unwinding the chain from the bars on the windows, she gently laid it on the ground and, ducking behind the door, scooted it open.

The first problem would most definitely be not waking everybody up. There was a sentry posted just a little to the left of the door, sleeping soundly. Everyone else was asleep in bundles piled together around the campfire. She immediately cast a glance around for Zevran. He would be the worst problem of all. The soldiers, inexperienced as they were, could be taken down easily with a few spells. Zevran, on the other hand, was a bigger menace.

She touched the cool metal of the collar. It had a keyhole in the back, and the key was most likely with Zevran. So, her first objective was to find the Antivan elf and break his neck in his sleep. As if reading her thoughts, Syn nipped her hand and pushed against her legs. Okay, so her first objective was to get the key away from Zevran and incapacitate him in a way so that he was no longer a problem. Nodding once to herself, she slipped out of the aravel.

She stumbled upon him sleeping in a position similar to hers the night he'd kidnapped her. His head was slightly bent forward, sitting Indian-style, one arm thrown carelessly across a dagger blade. His neck was decidedly closer to the tree, and for a split second she considered choking him with the rope he'd used to tie her up. Shaking her head, she tried to focus. From her vantage point, she couldn't see the key on him. So, before stalking over there to pat him down—an act he would no doubt enjoy if he were awake—she tried to find Rinna. Instead, she found her backpack.

It was hanging from a tree twenty paces from Zevran's sleeping spot. Two objectives in one place. Thinking it would be easier to get the key, unlock the collar, and retrieve her backpack before finding Rinna, she crept along the ground like a Dalish wanderer. Her once-Keeper would have been proud. Her slim body made no movements as it crept across the ground like a spider, using both hands and feet to balance her weight equally. Zevran didn't snore or move while he slept. He barely even breathed. Compliment of being an assassin, she supposed. One would probably have to sleep in a lot of strange places without being caught.

She got to his foot, pausing momentarily. He was very handsome as he slept, having aged not a day since she'd last seen him. Up close and unconscious, he didn't seem quite the same demon. His chest rose and fell rhythmically. His armor didn't glint malevolently but softly in the firelight, accenting his tattooed cheek and broad arms. Lithe and limber as most rogues were, his chest was still broad, arms still strong. He was so much bigger than her, but she knew she could kill him if she wanted.

Fingers working delicately—she used her good hand so as to have full concentration—she gently slipped a dagger from his calf and curled her fingers around the hilt, feeling the point of the blade press innocently into her wrist. She couldn't see the keys on him. It was best she just got her pack and then tried to find them. She'd spent too much time around him. Once, the heat of her body had actually woken him up. She knew he was a very light sleeper and wanted to give him enough time to be gently lulled back to sleep before trying again. Creeping away, she stopped just short and noticed the bag was tied.

The tree was too tall; she couldn't risk falling. Crumbling leaves that would most definitely make a sound covered every other path. Her only logical choice was to step right underneath it and try to reach the branch. As she walked softly toward the hanging backpack, she couldn't help but wonder just why it was hanging there in the first place. Wasn't it a remarkable coincidence that the bag would not only be just in sight of her aravel but also a path on the ground would be cleared for her? She kept walking nevertheless, even as the ground gave way. She gave an almost inaudible gasp as the earth crumbled beneath her feet and she tumbled down, down, down. The dagger flew from her grasp, only to land straight up. She clamped a hand over her mouth as the dagger went straight into her leg, nearly sticking out the other side. She settled for biting the flesh on her wrist and stifling a scream. She arched, lifting her leg up helplessly as it scratched the bone. It was a pain she hadn't felt in a while.

Breathing deeply, she whimpered and slowly reached down to grip the hilt. She yanked hard, pulling the dagger from her flesh with startling celerity. Panting, she dropped the bloodied blade on the ground, staring up at the vacuous sky. She had been tricked. Tricked by Zevran Arainai.

He was tossing the keys up and down in his hand, staring absently at them as they rose and fell when he walked up to the lip of the cavernous hole, dug expertly by himself no doubt. "Strange," he muttered with smugness radiating from every pore, "I don't recall you being this gullible. The Elda I know would have seen that coming."

Her only response was a moan of pain as she tried to sit up, rubbing the fresh dirt from her hair and clamping her fingers over the bleeding wound. The pit had to be nearly ten feet deep, too deep for her to jump and reach the top. Too deep for her to climb out. There wasn't any magic for summoning a rope, and she couldn't use magic anyway with the collar on. She was too delirious with the aftershock of pain to do anything but shake and lean against the dirt wall.

"If you wanted out, all you had to do was ask nicely," he patronized.

She growled at him. The moon cast a bit of light on the pool of blood collecting beneath her leg. He raised an eyebrow then laughed.

"Impaled upon my dagger. Oh, the same song and dance," he sighed longingly.

Two other soldiers ran up. Both of the males peered over the edge nervously as if she would launch herself up and at them at any moment. "My God, you actually caught her."

"See," the younger one piped, "told you it wasn't such a strange place to dig a pit after all. Glad we didn't put stakes in the bottom."

"You wanted to stake me?" she shouted angrily.

Zevran cast a glance down at her. "Not me," he said simply.

The younger one insisted on talking, though. "The pit wasn't for you, Miss. Commander said to dig a pit for the bears. We did."

"Commander?" she spat.

"That _would _be me," Zevran said smugly.

The older soldier chimed, "The Commander must have put the bag there after we all went to sleep. He must've known you'd go for it."

That didn't make her feel any better.

"Should we get her out, Commander?" the young soldier asked eagerly. She glanced up, trying to see his face in the dark.

Zevran pondered for a moment. He addressed her. "Bandages and a suture for my dagger?"

Grumpily, she replied. "Done."

To her great surprise, Zevran put a hand on the earthy side and leaped down into the pit. He landed on his feet hard, straightening quickly. She watched his back arch. Always so silent, moving so lazily. She remembered him standing there in that clearing. With the flick of his wrist, he'd sprung a trap she'd barely escaped from. She was always more powerful than him, but he was quicker. Dangerous. It made her shiver.

He approached and stretched out a hand, offering to pull her up. She got to her feet by herself and yanked the dagger up, preparing to strike. He danced to the side as she swiped at the air, intending to sink it into his left shoulder. Zevran laughed. She panted from the pain in her leg as she staggered toward him, an elf possessed. In the moonlight, she looked glorious. The sharp features of her face gave her an almost inhuman appearance. Her eyes gleamed in the poor light.

Just as she prepared to strike again, his hand darted up and latched around her wrist, throwing the full force of her built up momentum back onto her. She cried out, leg buckling. They landed in a heap, his hands about her wrists. His hips were pressed suggestively against hers, purposefully no doubt. He breathed in the scent of blood and cool winter. She was dizzy with the musk of pine and sweat that made up his aroma. Or it might have been blood loss.

Head still spinning she looked up into his eyes. They were golden pools of light. He smirked, hot breath on her lips. "I remember this part," he whispered. She snarled, pressed her head into the ground and shot forward, cracking their skulls together.

He groaned. She used the moment to shove hard on his shoulders. He didn't move, so she wriggled her knee between them and dug the bone deep into his groin. Zevran did move then, rolling as she pushed. Then she was sprawled on top of him. She raised the dagger, a ferocious glint in her eyes when she heard Rinna's voice, a distinct sound she'd memorized over the years.

"Mommy!" she screamed, tears down her face. She was hiccoughing, the younger soldier's hands on her arms. Syn was crouched low at her side, growling threateningly at seemingly everyone. Elda jumped off Zevran.

"I'm here, sweetheart!" she yelled. "I'm here, honey."

"D-don't kill him," she mumbled miserably, fingers rubbing at her red face.

Shocked momentarily, she glanced between Zevran and Rinna. Then, she hurriedly dropped the knife. "I'm not, sweetheart. I won't."

Zevran groaned, getting to his feet.

Two more soldiers, probably hearing them, hopped down into the pit. Each one seized her shoulders roughly, pulling them into a bind behind her back. Zevran trailed over to her and plucked the dagger from the ground. Twirling it nimbly between his fingers, he smirked at her.

"I have missed this," he said to her. Jerking his chin toward the aravel, he ordered the soldiers about. "Take her back to the aravel and let the kid in to see her. Clean the wound, then wake the rest, get some food in your stomachs. We leave in twenty minutes."

They bound her hands and feet in rope and slowly got her out of the pit. Her wound was cleaned and then sewn up. The younger soldier smiled tentatively at her while he bandaged it. After being carried to the aravel, they set her down at the very back and allowed Rinna in. Rinna threw her arms around Elda's neck and cried. Elda tried to calm her as they shut the door and the lock snapped into place. In short, she was right back where she'd begun.

* * *

**School's out for the summer so expect more updates! Hurray. I totally failed my chem final. :D**


	6. Audience

**Title: Snow and Ice**

**Rating: Mature**

**Warnings: Sexual content, minor language, violence, blood, use of alcohol**

**Summary: Once upon a time, a maleficar had stopped the blight. Afterwards, she'd left for the colder North, leaving love for a life of loneliness and wandering. No one was to look for her. So why was Alistair calling her back? Zev/Surana**

**Author's Note: ****Thank you for reading. Review please. **

* * *

Chapter 6

It took three days to reach Denerim. During that time, Elda suffered every indignity she could ever think of. Someone had to hold her as she went to the bathroom. A female soldier had to strip her down, tie her up, and dump a bucket of cold river water over her head as a bath. The same female soldier brushed her teeth, combed her hair, and fed her. Everyday Zevran would waltz into the aravel and ask her if she would like to 'play nice.' She never agreed. So she was forced to simply stew in her own misery as the weather changed from hot to cold. She shivered and sweated. She struggled and slept. She chewed and swallowed. And she let out the biggest sigh of relief ever when someone finally shouted that Denerim was in sight.

Suddenly she knew how Zevran felt when he'd entered Ferelden after living in the glorious Antiva. In the wild, everything was dangerous and smelled of death. Elda recognized the smell of wet dog and the damp air. Mud splashed on the tires as they entered Denerim. She wanted to cover her ears for all the noise. Apothecaries bubbled and machinery turned. The hammering of an anvil off in the distance was like nails in her brain. The towns they entered were always poor. She hadn't been in such a busy city for nearly six years. Merchants peddled their stock. Pies cooled in windows. Troops marched through the streets. Drunken nobles complained about their simplistic lives. Children ran around in the streets unsupervised, buying sweet treats. A chanter shouted the Maker's words into the crowds. By the time they reached the courtyard of the castle, she had a headache.

Zevran opened the door of the aravel and pulled her to her feet. In her ear, he whispered, "Alistair is here in the castle, and we can't have him seeing you like this, now can we? I'm going to cut your ropes. If you run, we have plenty of templars on hand. If necessary, we will hold the girl hostage." Quickly, he moved to her back, keeping a steely grip on her hands from behind. He bent down and freed her ankles. "Move," he said.

She shuffled forward uncertainly, blinded in the bright light. Zevran kept her steady as she descended the steps of the aravel. Rinna was looking nervous and tired. Elda tried to deviate from the path the rogue behind her had set, but he refused to let it happen. He snapped at the female soldier. "Tristen, take the girl to the kitchens and get her something to eat. Have the maids bathe her and get her some new clothes. This audience will not take long."

Tristen crossed her arms and bowed. "Commander," she nodded, putting a hand out take Rinna's. Rinna took it uncertainly, sparing a glance at her mother.

"Go with the soldiers, Rinna," Elda told her, holding her chin up high as Zevran marched her to the wooden doors. It was much like being taken to her Harrowing, not knowing if she was marching toward her execution or her future. If they thought they could kill her, she would show them wrong.

"I don't appreciate being treated by a prisoner," she told Zevran as they entered the doors. It was much cooler inside, the icy stone conditioning the air. High arches decorated the entry way. Knights and guards bowed their heads as they walked past.

"You _are _a prisoner," he answered, tightening his hold on her hands. "You killed four of my men."

"In defense," she whispered, plastering a smile on her face as a noble paused to stare at them. Metal footsteps echoed in the halls as the soldiers walked in rhythm behind. Maids and servants all paused, a few of them gasping or dropping their loads. She didn't recognize them, but she was sure they recognized her.

"Prove it," he blew hot breath on her ear and forced her to walk faster.

The throne room was in sight. She felt her heart actually pick up a notch.

* * *

He had been waiting so long. For centuries he'd been stuck in the Fade, wasting away, feeding off of the souls of mortals that were foolish enough to call him. But the elf...Elda her name was. She was powerful. Her power reverberated through him and around him. It was pure bliss to have a piece of her inside of him. A piece of her essence. The kiss he'd stolen was intoxicating. He found himself wanting more. Wanting her. And he always got what he wanted.

The mage was asleep, wandering helplessly in the Fade. All he needed was one magic-wielding body to possess. His shadowy form slipped around the boy, toying with him. Ikilai needed to see her. With her help, he could rule the Fade. With her power, he could be unstoppable. He would make her his queen, and they would be immortal. No more would mages rip him from the Fade and into the new world. He wouldn't have to live off of the pathetic life essence of neophytes.

The boy screamed as Ikilai's pointed fingers clasped around his throat.

* * *

Alistair didn't expect the frightening woman that Zevran threw before him. The rogue had actually shoved her forward so she landed on her knees, nearly falling flat on her face because someone had tied her up. Zevran looked ridiculously satisfied with himself. But Alistair wasn't watching him. He didn't really see the assassin. No, he saw Elda Surana, a woman he'd once loved. She was so...different, it threw him off. Everything about her was sharp, frightening. Her teeth as she bared them were pointed and white. Her skin was molded out of alabaster, hair a mop of snow on her head. The black robes flowing around her contrasted greatly, nearly falling off of her lithe body. Then, there were her eyes. Flickering like gems, they were a mix of red and icy blue. Tattoos that had not been there during the blight wound along every patch of skin she had, all a deep blue. A particular matching set on both arms stuck out. They were nearly cerulean, glowing with magic he assumed. For a moment, he thought he saw them pulsing, but it was probably just a trick of the light.

She got to her feet unsteadily. A collar was around her neck, the kind the qunari used to leash their mages. Alistair stood up.

"Zevran, what is the meaning of this? Take that collar off," he ordered.

"Sorry," he said simply. "Can't do that, my king. Elda here's been busy. She killed four of my men. Tried to kill me, too." He was leaning back on one leg, twirling a dagger nimbly between his fingers. "And that..." he paused, casting a glance at her as he walked past. Two guards closed the doors behind them. Zevran stopped just at Alistair's side, sliding the dagger into its sheath at his calf. "Was without magic."

Elda's eyes darted about wildly, taking in every entrance and every exit. She really, really didn't want to kill Alistair. He was the king, and she still felt a token of affection for him. Whatever affection she'd felt for Zevran was long gone, washed away in cold baths, dug up pits, and stolen daggers. She couldn't really pick the knot with one hand. The other was too badly injured to be any use. So far, she could find no way to get out. Plus, there was Rinna. She had to fetch Rinna as well.

Zevran seemed to have read her thoughts. "There is no way out, my dear. Simply listen to what we have to say."

Alistair glanced at him with a confused look. "Give me those keys," he said, stretching out a hand. Reluctantly, Zevran pressed the keys into his palm. He didn't let go, though. He pulled Alistair close.

"She is more dangerous than you think."

The king descended the stair. Elda tensed, stepping backwards away from him. But he didn't have a weapon on him. He also didn't seem to mean any harm at all. He smiled reassuringly and put a hand on her shoulder, sliding the correct key into the keyhole on the back of her neck. When he turned it, the collar snapped open with a hiss and fell clattering to the floor. Smoke rose from the inside. She felt all of her mana return in a great rush, almost dizzyingly. Alistair whistled once and someone tossed a dagger to him. He used it to slice through the ropes binding her wrists.

She jerked them in front of her, rubbing the open wounds from where the rope had cut into the skin. Eyeing Alistair warily, she asked, "What do you want from me?"

"To talk," he answered. "Someone get me a bucket of warm water." In a gesture of absolute familiarity, he raised a finger to run it over the scrape across her eye. "Zevran, I did not send you after her in the first place."

"No, but it was much quicker this way, wasn't it?" he quipped, narrowing his eyes.

Alistair turned to face him. "I knew you would let your desire to have her back ruin any chance of a peaceful reunion. That was why I sent the soldiers. I received a very interesting report recently, Zevran. A maid seems to think you were responsible for making my templars attack her." He raised an eyebrow.

Zevran shrugged and crossed his arms. "The maid would be correct. I despise these simple pleasantries. If she had been apprehended at all cost in the first place, we could have saved much time. If you had sent me after her first, you wouldn't have lost so many men."

Alistair's eyes flashed. "That was not your decision to make."

"But it was the right one, don't you agree?" Swaggering down the steps, he approached them. Elda narrowed her eyes, clenching her fists. She wouldn't use magic on Alistair. She would just kill Zevran. That was all. "I have learned in my experience that when a woman has something she wants to protect, she will go to all costs to do so. And, my dear king, Elda has something very dear to protect."

Confused, Alistair's shoulders relaxed for a moment. She was gathering strength at his back, away from the prying eyes of the templars and soldiers in the room. "What are you talking about?"

He smiled charmingly. "Alistair, she has a daugh-" but he never got to finish the sentence.

At that moment, Elda had gathered enough energy in her tiny fingers to throw, with all her strength, a ball of lightning right at Zevran's chest. She prayed it would go straight to his heart, stopping all movement. Zevran was propelled backwards at a startling velocity, crashing into the stairs at the end of the throne. Alistair whipped around, frightened and confused at the same time. Her hands were glowing with power, hair rising and falling in an invisible wind. He could only think that she had not been so powerful during the blight.

But as quickly as she had attacked, the templars descended on her. Four of them hit her with a mana drain at once, sucking all power and strength from her in a flurry of dancing blue lights. She fell to her knees, gasping, sweat springing out across her skin. It was such a feeling of complete emptiness. She had never felt anything like it. Suddenly, it was difficult even to breath. Mana from the templars, her own stolen mana added to the mix, pressed in all around her. She floundered, hand going to her throat, choking on it. She had completely forgotten the templars.

Soldiers reacted just as fast. Two of them grabbed her forearms and wrenched her to her feet. The third man she recognized. It was the young man who had talked her to her in the pit. He swiped up the Qunari collar and snapped it around her neck, sealing off any restoration of power. She was panting, letting the soldiers hold her up completely by the time Zevran stirred.

He was doing a fair bit of coughing. "Now do you see why I had her chained up?" Little flickers of electricity still buzzed across his skin. He beat them out, rising to his feet.

"I said I would kill you, and I never break my word!" she yelled to him, struggling weakly against her captors.

Something like anger showed in his eyes.

"Enough, both of you," Alistair ordered. "Zevran, leave us." Zevran blinked, then a sarcastic smile twisted on his handsome face.

"As you request, my king," he growled, disappearing in a puff of smoke and coalescing shadows.

Alistair turned to her. "I apologize for Zevran's behavior. He has been on edge ever since you eluded our grasp and refused to be summoned. Understandable considering what...transpired between you two." He coughed.

"I have...no more feelings...for that man than a deepstalker has...for a nug," she panted, feeling shaky.

He laughed. "It's not my business anyway." Alistair paused, becoming very interested in a light fixture behind her head. "But you have a daughter, don't you?"

She looked up from beneath her wintry bangs. "So? I don't want her to be...caught up in this mess. Whatever you...need to say...just say it. I will listen...and then I will...leave."

"You're not the same woman I once knew," he said softly.

She straightened her spine and glared at him. "I am stronger."

"Yes," he agreed, remembering Zevran's body flying across the room. Taking a deep breath, he said, "Whatever I need to say can wait until tomorrow. For now, the soldiers will take you to your room. I'll have a mage seal it shut, so don't try to escape, please. Your daughter will be brought to your chambers. You can relax, have a bath, take care of your wounds."

The soldiers began dragging her away. "Wait, what about the collar?" she asked, struggling.

"I'm afraid the collar is going to have to stay on. Until I'm sure you won't kill Zevran, not that I'm too fond of him at the moment either," Alistair gave her a wane smile.

Eyes widening, she jerked and kicked and flailed. "You can't do this! Alistair! You can't keep me here! I can't stay! I can't!" She needed wide open spaces and fresh air and howling wind and animals. The creaking hallways and bowing servants reminded her too much of the tower. Hot food, warm baths, the sweet smell of incense. She couldn't take it. She felt herself slipping, wanting to kill the sad face of the king and the soldiers that restrained her.

That's when every candle and torch in the room was doused.

Everyone jumped when a ghostly laughter filtered throughout the room. Elda's laughter was a sort of hiccoughing laugh at first. It escalated to a high pitched shrieking. The soldiers let her sink to the floor where she fell to her knees, staring at her hands. The matching tattoos were glowing brighter and brighter, almost blindingly so. Alistair stumbled backwards.

White smoke billowed out from her tattoos, covering the entire floor in a fog-like substance. Right in front of her, the white shadows collected, bubbling upwards and building into a tangible shape. She glanced up at it, excitement as well as terror in her dark-framed eyes. It rose up to about a human's height, ancient blue eyes staring at her. The handsome face of Ikilai appeared, but how? They weren't in the Fade. She reached a hand up, shielding her eyes from the blinding light.

Ikilai took it. The touch was light and warm. His voice echoed with hundreds of others. "My sssweet queen." He kneeled, fingers caressing her face. "Ssso powerful...ssso beautiful."

"Ikilai," she whispered. "What are you doing here?"

His long finger pressed against her full lips. Using her hand, he pulled her onto her feet. She went willingly, slightly mesmerized by the swirling shadows in his eyes. "Ssshhh..." he whispered. Then, he kissed her for the second time. The same feeling of pain and pleasure traveled up her spine. She didn't know why he was there, why he chose to show up at that moment in time, but she couldn't help but feel grateful. That feeling lasted only a few seconds. Ikilai was a _demon _and he was kissing her. Not to mention that she had to be worried that he was out of the Fade by himself, using her essence like a tracking beacon. And he seemed to be quite fond of her, calling her his Queen.

She felt him jerk. He shoved her backwards. Someone was there to catch her as she stumbled. Her eyes widened, catching sight of the long dagger in Ikilai's back. Ikilai arched and groaned.

"Not ssstrong enough..." he hissed. Stretching out those strangely long fingers, his eyes met hers. The human form was disappearing into one far more demonic. "Yet..." His entire body turned into that misty substance, filtering out through the cracks in the walls, the floor, and a bit of it seeping back into her tattoos. It stung, but she was far too focused on what had just happened.

She recognized the arms around her when a familiar voice trilled in her ear, "Oh, I leave and all the interesting things happen. So sad."

The lights burst back into life.

* * *

**Yes, Ikilai is a major part of the story. And I know Zev's being an ass right now, but he'll get better. Srsly, how would you act if your girlfriend had disappeared six years ago and then tried to kill you at the reunion?**


	7. She Remembers

**Title: Snow and Ice**

**Rating: Mature**

**Warnings: Sexual content, minor language, violence, blood, use of alcohol**

**Summary: Once upon a time, a maleficar had stopped the blight. Afterwards, she'd left for the colder North, leaving love for a life of loneliness and wandering. No one was to look for her. So why was Alistair calling her back? Zev/Surana**

**Author's Note: ****Thank you for reading. Review please. Sorry about all the **_**italics. **_**I've been reading a lot of Joker fiction.**

* * *

Chapter 7

She was far too exhausted to even move out of the hated grip of the elven assassin. Instead, she sank against his chest, pain pulsating in her arms. Soldiers were shouting orders. Everyone was rushing to the king, seeing if he was all right. She was breathing a little roughly. She didn't know what Ikilai had done to her during that kiss, how much of her essence he had taken. It was a hard thing to gauge. While she sat there out of breath, she suddenly became aware of the rhythmic hand on her back, rubbing soft circles there in a comforting way. Zevran was humming a familiar tune, one that she had hummed to Rinna on dark nights. It was Antivan.

"Stop that," she groaned. "You're giving me a headache." It wasn't true, but she didn't want any sort of intimacy of their past life creeping into their present relationship of hatred and grudges.

He saw right through it, too. As he always had. "Lying never suited you," he mused quietly, stopping his humming all the same.

Zevran lifted her exhausted body, black robes swaying, into his arms. They moved quickly and quietly, and she could hardly do anything about it. It was strange being back in his arms. That last night...well, she didn't want to think about it. She couldn't remember much. Only that everything had been frenzied, and she had tasted goodbye in every kiss just as he had. Still, it wasn't sexual feelings she felt in his arms at that moment. A sense of peace had settled over her, like being held by the parents she'd never met or curling up next to Syn for a nap or holding her beautiful daughter.

Then she remembered that it was _Zevran _who was holding her and _Zevran _who was enjoying every minute of it. She remembered how cruel he had been over the past few days and how he had broken his promise. But before she could do anything about it, he dumped her on a plush bed. There was a split moment of panic before she landed, a moment of thinking that Zevran had dropped her on purpose. When she hit the soft blankets, she rocketed into a crouch.

The Antivan assassin leaned against a wall on the opposite side, one foot pressed into the stone, arms crossed. "You're not going to make this easy, are you?"

"Make what easy?" she demanded, glancing at the open door.

"Getting you to fall in love with me _all over again_," he sighed. "And I'll make it to the door before you do. You forget who taught you all these tricks."

"I spent a long time with the Dalish; I've learned new tricks," she snapped, gently crawling off of the bed and in the direction of the door. "And I plan on killing you."

He laughed. "So why haven't you?"

"You forget that I am not the assassin here."

"Oh?" he piped. "So you will continue to blunder headlong into sparring matches with me? No plan, no poison, no delightful seductions before I die? What a cruel mistress."

"That lightning bolt should have killed you today. You got lucky," she hissed, taking a quiet step away from him and closer to freedom.

"No, actually, I was prepared." Ignoring her retreat completely, he pulled an amulet from his armor. She froze. That amulet...

"Ah, you know it? A Dalish invention. Repels most magic attacks. Incredibly useful," he smiled knowingly. He knew that was the only thing she had left of her mother's, of her father's. When she was so brutally ripped from their arms as a child and thrown savagely into the tower to live a life of seclusion, she had been wearing that amulet. That amulet belonged to her family. Her father had given it to her mother on their wedding day.

"How did you get that?" she asked, tongue darting out to wet her chapped lips.

"You left it here, in the bathroom," he gestured about. She suddenly realized just exactly where she was. She was in their room, the room they shared before she left. Eyes darting about, she took in the familiar blankets, the collection of books on the far wall (it had been added to), and her shining juggernaut armor standing proud in a corner. The bathroom was just across from the bed. It smelled of Antivan spices and cinnamon. Home.

She shook her head, trying to focus. "Why did you take it?"

"For the same reason you left it," he murmured, trailing a hand over the polished shelves just above the fireplace. "Because it reminded me..."

"I forgot it. Don't imply that I left it out of some sentimental reasoning," she growled.

He laughed. "Oh, I wasn't implying anything. You _did _leave it out of sentiment. I _seem _to recall you wearing it _numerous _times while we-"

She cried out and threw a pillow at him. He danced out of the way. "I _just _remembered how much I hate you!"

"Really? You know, six years is a long time. Six years and a few months is even longer," he sighed dramatically. "I had forgotten just how long it took to break through all the barriers the first time. You were always a cynic. Probably because you're a mage."

"And you were always an ass. Probably because you're a self-centered, womanizing, Antivan whore," she ground out, clenching her fists.

He smiled. "Ah, how I've missed your fire."

She bared her teeth, taking another subtle step towards the door. His eyes flickered to her feet and then back to her face. "You haven't seen my _fire _yet."

"Speaking of magic," he said, sliding towards her. "That...ah, demon in the throne room. Wouldn't be your doing, would it?"

"What do you think?" she spat at him. He was very close then, the heat of his body nearly making her sick. Honey-colored eyes burned warmly into hers.

"I think you've been calling up demons, darling," he accused, snatching her hand and holding it up an inch from his face. Scars and new cuts, not to mention the red, unfeeling tissue, made her a bit self-conscious.

"So what if I have? Life on the run hasn't been easy." She wrenched her hand from his, backing up, nearly tripping over the too long hem of her black robes.

"You think I'd accuse you? I've done desperate things. I am an assassin after all," he reminded her gently. "I know what it's like to be on the run. Alistair, on the other hand, won't understand at all." As if to emphasize this, he clucked his tongue and shook his head.

"What are you getting at?"

He tapped her nose mockingly. "You, my dear, are a _bloodmage._"

She laughed then, stopping suddenly and leaning close. She always smelled like incense. From the tower, it was embedded in her blood. "Prove it," she breathed. The words were a repetition of what he'd said to her in the hallway.

"I won't have to," he declared, slinking to the door and blocking the exit. "Cuts, demons appearing out of nowhere, the undeniable increase in magic, the scent of blood marring your every breath..." He grasped the door with one hand, staring at her amusedly.

"What are you going to do?" she demanded, wanting to rush the door but knowing he'd close it before she ever got there.

Somehow, he actually had a tinge of sadness in his eyes. "I'm going to do something incredibly _stupid. _So stupid in fact, I best go before I begin to _think _about it."

"What would that be?"

He sighed. "I'm going to go to Alistair and _convince _the little fool that you are trustworthy, even though you are not."

With that, he closed the door so fast cool air blew her hair.

* * *

Even though he had shut the door in such a final way, he didn't actually leave until another mage came and put a seal on the door. She leaned against it for hours, trying to create a spark of magic but to no avail. The collar cut off everything.

She didn't have much to do. The memories surrounding that room began to drive her made after a while. She drifted to the bookshelf, feeling the soft paper in her hands, remembering her favorite books—she hadn't held a book in so long, much less read one. In the bathroom, all her soaps were still aligned perfectly on a shelf to the left. Zevran's were on the right. He still didn't know how to drain all of the water properly and still managed to leave his scent on everything in the bathroom. Lying on the bed later proved to be too uncomfortable. Despite herself, she couldn't help but wonder just how many men and women Zevran had charmed in her place while she was off surviving. The sheets were not crisp like the inns she stayed at, but warm and comforting. Special made pillows she'd bought in the Denerim market still decorated the bed. In a chest at the foot of the expansive mattress contained all of her clothes. Dresses that Zevran had bought for her, robes, hats, and old shoes were neatly folded in the bottom of the cedar chest. Her old jewelry box was nestled right on top, containing an old pair of earrings that Jowan had stolen, a ruby necklace she had always been too afraid to wear, and a ring Morrigan had once given her. Her ink bottles were buried beneath all of the clothes.

She took those out gingerly, remembering the nights of pain after a new tattoo. The last tattoo she'd gotten to mark her story was the bursting flower of life on her lower belly. It marked Rinna's birthday in human lettering, right next to Jowan's betrayal. How many nights had she sat on the bed, Zevran's artistic hands working over a new design? Almost all of her tattoos had been created by him. The rest were Dalish. Some the product of a young apprentice eager to bury the ink into her skin. One Jowan had scribed.

She touched her hands to her face. No one except Zevran had ever tattooed her face. It was a delicate act, attempted best with articulate fingers. One slip of the needle and serious damage could be done. The swirling shapes beneath her eyes were all done in the tower. The vine winding up over one eye was the tattoo she'd allowed Zevran to design.

_"A permanent reminder," he said softly, tracing a finger over the new image and then placing a kiss on it._

_"Why a vine, though?" she asked, feeling the delicious pain as he pressed his lips to the abused skin._

_"Vines are resilient. Pretty hard to break."_

Growling at herself, she packed the vials—red, blue, green, purple, and black—into the cedar chest carefully and shut the top, done with remembering. It gave her a headache. All of those emotions were too far gone. She felt love for her daughter, hatred for everyone else. Seeing the world in black and white was much easier.

She hoisted herself up onto the cedar chest and sat with her head in her hands. Zevran had to _know _at that point that Rinna was his daughter. Her name wasn't the only factor. Any idiot could see she was the spitting image of her father. The golden hair, the strong jaw, her charm. His blood was running through her veins in a potent dosage. An assassin, trained to witness and catalog every detail he came across, was bound to notice and use it to his advantage. Zevran was just waiting for the opportune moment to spring it on her. He wanted to listen to her sputter out an answer, beg for forgiveness, and try to make a family out of the three of them.

_Yes, _she thought bitterly, _I am a bloodmage and a grey warden, Rinna's father is an assassin. My daughter carries the taint of darkspawn spume in her blood. What a cozy family we would make._

And while thinking about blood magic, she began to ponder just what Ikilai wanted from her. He was a strong demon, but even strong demons didn't need sacrifices that often. He wasn't just bothering her or tracking her because he wanted another life so soon. He'd stolen a piece of her essence. They were connected, yes, but he could in no way harm her. What really had her worried was that he had come from the Fade without her calling. He'd actually had a tangible form in the real world. That wasn't supposed to be able to happen. Not only did he happen to have a tangible form, but it had been _solid _and _whole. _He'd actually been able to touch her.

She had been so stupid to let her guard down for one minute. Clenching her unfeeling hand, she remembered that night. For a bit of extra power, she'd lost all feeling in one hand and a demon was chasing her. Was it worth it? Absolutely not. She had been arrogant to call up such a powerful demon in the first place. A weak demon would have done just as well. Angered, she banged the fingers against the chest. Nothing. Her nerve endings didn't even register it.

Feeling particularly nasty, she pressed her fingernails into the numb flesh, harder and harder until blood welled up into little crescent shapes. She could feel the bones straining under the pressure, yet it didn't _hurt. _It was a very strange feeling.

The door creaked open. She glanced languidly over at it, expecting to see Zevran or someone equally as unimportant. Instead, it was Rinna. The girl's hair was tied up into a bun. Her new dress shone in the dim light. Someone had scrubbed the dirt and grime from every inch of her. Elda stood. Rinna ran into the room and into her mother's arms.

It was such a relief to have Rinna in her arms, Elda didn't even think about escape. She pulled back and crouched, touching her daughter's face. "Sweetheart, are you all right?"

She seemed confused by the question but nodded. A shadow moved behind her head. Elda glanced up. Zevran was standing in the doorway.

_Oh, yes, what I need. A little family reunion._

Rinna was pulling on her robes, though. "Zevran—Zevran taught me how to use a sword, Mommy. He taught me how to use a sword!"

Laughing mirthlessly for Rinna's benefit, she glared at Zevran's silhouette. "Did he, now? Doesn't silly Zevran know that my daughter is a mage?"

"I told him that, but he said it was going to be too much fun," she breathed. "And it _was_."

"Relax," he said, "all those little tricks I once taught you have come in handy, yes?"

Rinna's fingers clenched tightly on her mother's. Elda looked down at her. She seemed to be thinking rather hard about something. Her nose was scrunched up. "Mommy, you're not going to kill him, are you?"

"Not right now," she promised. "Why?"

"Cause-cause you look like you're going to kill him," Rinna accused. When she was excited, she tended to repeat words. "And I-I don't want you to. I like him, Mommy."

Zevran was grinning smugly in the doorway. Elda spoke to her daughter. "So did I."


	8. Best Not to Linger

**Title: Snow and Ice**

**Rating: Mature**

**Warnings: Sexual content, minor language, violence, blood, use of alcohol**

**Summary: Once upon a time, a maleficar had stopped the blight. Afterwards, she'd left for the colder North, leaving love for a life of loneliness and wandering. No one was to look for her. So why was Alistair calling her back? Zev/Surana**

**Author's Note: ****Thank you for reading. Review please. Everyone, I appreciate all of the reviews and kindness you have shown. Reviews spur a writer's heart more than you can possibly know. **

Chapter 8

"Alistair thought you should sleep for tonight. He'll speak to you of our predicament in the morning," Zevran said. He was sitting on the bed with her, both of them watching Rinna while the girl flipped through the dozens of books on the ground. She was fascinated by the many languages, especially the dwarven books. While Elda had taught her how to read and write, she'd never considered teaching Rinna different languages at all.

"You're on pretty cushy terms with the king," she noted sourly.

"Well, I _do _keep his bed warm in the winter," he mused, running a hand through his hair with a teasing smile on his face.

"Liar."

"Oh, you doubt it, do you?" he laughed. "It gets lonely without a body to warm my bed. Alistair is much more adventurous than you give him credit for."

She scoffed, disgusted. "You are trying to get under my skin. It won't work. And Alistair is the least adventurous person in the world."  
"Hm," he considered. "People change, you know. And what about you, by the way? Just how adventurous have you been these past few years?"

"Ah," she smiled, "but that is a truth you would rather not hear, isn't it? I'm sure you've had your fair share of servant boys and girls, living up here in this castle."

"That, my dear, is a given," he confirmed, "but you did not answer my question."

"And I will not answer it. You are lucky I haven't slit your throat," she hissed, already tired of his prattling.

"Why is that, I wonder?" he asked, casting a glance over at Rinna. While Elda's gaze had been on her daughter from the start, the assassin's trailed back and forth.

"I promised her that I would not," she said simply, gesturing to Rinna for emphasis.

He leaned in closer, smelling sweet perfume and incense. "You promised you wouldn't kill me _yet_."

Finally, she turned to face him, matching her steely blue eyes to his warm ones. "Yes," she agreed, "so I think it would be best if you did not, ah, _linger_, don't you?" The thought of killing him brought pleasure and amusement to her eyes. He did not miss this. Hopping off of the bed with a dramatic sigh, he drifted to the door.

Rinna glanced up at him while he bowed.

"I shall leave you ladies to it, then. I would hate to wear out my welcome," he said, shooting a smile at his daughter.

"Far too late," Elda muttered. Then, she blinked in surprise when Rinna rushed to Zevran and threw her arms around his waist.

"Do you hafta go?" she sniffed. Zevran stiffened in surprise but melted like honey when he looked at her face. Elda's fingers dug into the underside of her palm. Rinna's attraction to his presence would be problematic when they finally escaped. And it was killing her to watch Zevran lap it up and put on a show. He thought he had protection as long as Rinna cared for him. How wrong he was.

"Yes, my sweet girl," he said, tucking a strand of golden hair behind her ear. "Don't worry. I shall be back at dawn. We can continue our games."

"Can't you sleep here?" she inquired.

Elda nearly choked on her flask of water, shooting a burning look at the both of them. Leaving the comforts of the bed behind, she padded to the door in her black nightgown and hauled Rinna into her arms. "Rinna, don't you remember what I said about picking up stray dogs?" Syn whined in the corner at this, then rolled over on his back and fell to sleep again.

"They've got flees," she answered, smiling.

Laughing lightly, Elda's hand clamped down upon the door. "Correct," she said, slamming it in his face.

As Zevran leaned against the stony wall out in front of the door, waiting on the mage to seal it up with his magic, he couldn't help but think just how beautiful she was when she had that dangerous twinkle in her eye. It was like admiring a snake. Such a powerful creature, deadly and gorgeous. He couldn't wait until morning to start the game over again. And it seemed the answer to winning her affection lay in winning the affection of her daughter first.

..

After bathing both herself and Rinna when the mage finally left and she heard Zevran's footsteps retreat, she tucked her daughter in and kissed her goodnight. She wasn't without tenderness when it came to her daughter. Standing over the bed, watching the soft firelight cast shadows on Rinna's flushed cheeks, she thought once again how much she had never wanted children. At one time, up at that tower, she had thought children would be nothing more than a nuisance. Only when the ability to have children was taken away from her did she see the brighter side. To be a mother...well, it was what most people in the world wanted, wasn't it? But as Alistair and she got closer, the ability to have children was diminished even more. Two grey wardens couldn't conceive and child and probably shouldn't anyway.

She plopped into a chair by the fire. Alistair had been good fun. She'd kept the rose he'd given her in her pack for a fairly long time. They grew close after she'd gone to the tower and saved the Connor boy. That had readily impressed him. Then Zevran came along. What woman could resist such a man? He had been so playful, so flattering. Of course, she resisted up to a point, always ordering him to do chores, always telling him he was being silly. But deep down she valued the attention that she'd never received in the tower, and he had known that. So he had persisted. What man wouldn't?

It was pure chance that one night she would be so distraught by the discovery of the broodmother, of what would happen to her, and by the army marching the very next day that she crept into his chambers and asked him to make love to her. Zevran had agreed easily, of course. He had always been understanding of her. He knew what she needed that night and didn't disappoint. That soft, gentle lovemaking had been the first time she'd slept with anyone since Jowan. And it had been during that night that Rinna was conceived.

She had been such a fool to not use protection. But being a grey warden was supposed to be her protection. When she'd found out she was pregnant just four days after the archdemon was dead, her mind had been thrown into a panic. She didn't know how to take care of a child, what to do while pregnant, if using magic or if the battle had hurt the baby. What was so hard was keeping it a secret from Zevran. He was someone who proved to be knowledgeable about everything, even though he was just a few years old than her. But telling him would mean caging him, tying him to her after he'd just been freed from the Crows. As the days had dragged on, as her belly had gotten bigger, she knew that she couldn't tell him but nor could she hide it any longer. So she'd packed and left him behind. Probably not one of her best moments.

"I'm sorry you had to grow up without a father," she whispered, glancing at the sleeping child. And she was. Growing up without any parents at all was a hard, hard thing. People latch onto anyone for a father or mother figure. She had. She'd done it so many times. Each time the older mages or mentors would let her down, they took a little bit with her. That was why it had been so hard to read that message of Irving's. To see how horribly he'd treated the mages at the tower, how cruelly he tested them without their consent. He had been like a father to her since she was a twelve year old girl lost in the tower. And when she found out he'd betrayed her, it felt like a knife in the heart.

Rinna had never had time to latch onto a father figure. She'd only ever met Jowan once, in the town of Halisk, and he was an apostate that Elda would never trust again. Jowan was far too afraid of her to ever do anything anyway. The people in the villages they visited to resupply were always too frightened of Elda to speak to her daughter. No men joined her at night. No women warmed her bed. She lived not for the pleasures of life but for Rinna.

_Enough_, she thought. Thinking about it was tainting the warmth and comfort of actually have a roof of her head with melancholy. She bent to pick up the books and put them away. Dousing the fire with a bucket of water, she slipped into bed and pulled the covers over the both of them. Rinna's warm body was pressed up against her. In that moment, she found peace enough to sleep without nightmares.

..

Elda woke up to a frenzy of maddening giggling. At first she just tried to ignore it, sliding a pillow over her head and hunkering down even further into the plush blankets. Somehow, the sound waves still got through. When she sat up, it was with a vengeance.

Her fury was quelled the second she caught sight of red hair. Rinna's face was completely covered in yellow, blue, and orange paint. It dripped off of the end of her nose. Leliana had a swipe of blue on her neck, a splotch of yellow over her eye. They were fighting with paint...in her room...so early in the morning. Elda's face turned from angry to mildly annoyed in a matter of moments.

Leliana stopped giggling and glanced at the bed. "My, my, aren't you a looker so early in the morning?" she teased.

Running a hand through her hair sleepily, she glanced around. "Is it morning yet?"

"Quite so," Leliana said, standing up and while doing so pulling Rinna into her arms. "I would say it is almost midday, actually."

Elda looked horrified. "How could you let me sleep so late?" she demanded, stumbling from the bed and over to the cedar chest. She slipped off her nightgown quite easily and pulled out a robe.

"We were so entranced by your beauty, none of us had the heart," a voice she recognized said. Zevran was haunting a corner of the room, Syn's head beneath his gently scratching hands.

The mage scoffed, pulling on her black robes. "I should have known you would be in here. Are you still under the impression that I am completely harmless without my magic?" She glanced lazily over at him.

"Not completely harmless," he amended, "but harmless enough."

"We shall see," she hummed mysteriously.

"Enough you two," Leliana laughed, handing Rinna to Zevran and walking over to Elda with her arms wide. "It is good to see you, my friend."

Elda hugged her back tentatively, wary of the bard. She was also slightly put off by Zevran's familiarity with Rinna already. He was chattering quickly in her ear, making her laugh. Leliana whispered, "Aren't they a pair, hmm? She is quite taken with him."

The mage didn't respond, nor did she react when Leliana put an arm around her shoulders and held her close. She remembered that Leliana had a crush on her but was not bothered by it. Six years was enough time to squash any kind of feeling, particularly one formed in the heat of the moment. Her and Zevran's relationship was proof of that.

"Where's Alistair? I would like to get this over with so we may leave," she said, numb hand curling her fingers over the metallic collar on her neck.

"Problematic," cooed Zevran to Rinna. He put her down. Syn began to lick her face and paw at her clothes. "You see, our dear king has left for Arl Eamon's estate. He'll be gone for three days." As if to emphasize the amount, he held up three fingers.

"You must be joking!" Elda growled. "This is ridiculous. I demand that you let me leave! We will not stay here for _three days _simply because he has chosen an inconvenient time to kidnap me!"

"Kidnap?" repeated Leliana in confusion.

Zevran ignored her. "He did want me to tell you that you have free reign of the grounds as long as you don't kill anyone. And before you get any cute ideas, there are guards on every corner and the walls are high."

"The fall is deadly," she remembered. "And you have my key." Back when she'd lived at the castle for a few weeks, they often played training games. She wasn't allowed to use magic then either, to practice should she ever actually be incapable of it. She had never thought she might actually need the training.

He grinned, "This time, I fear, you won't be getting the key. The situation is real."

Ignoring him, Elda turned to Leliana. "Has Rinna been fed?"

Leliana blinked. "Of course, but what's this about kidnap? Zevran...you didn't _actually _kidnap her, like you said you would? With a bag over her head and everything?" She glanced at Elda imploringly.

"Oh, yes, he did," she growled angrily. "Only he used a rope and nearly choked me to death."

Zevran sighed. "How can I ever win if you two gang up on me?"

"You deserve it," the mage continued. "You choked me, kidnapped my daughter, shot me with an arrow, let me fall into a bloody hole and stab myself with a dagger, and then locked me in an aravel for nearly four days."

Rinna and Syn were paying attention now, too.

"Correction, _my dear_," he said, narrowing his eyes, "but it was you who killed four innocent men of mine, stole my dagger, fell into a trap, and then tried to assassinate me when I was ready to wrap your wound. Or did that slip your mind?"

She stepped up to him, puffing her self up. "It seems it did. Must have forgotten while you were whispering threats in my ear."

"Threats keep you under control," he hissed. "Not my fault if I know your every secret."

She threw back her head and laughed mirthlessly. "My sweet paramour, you know _very _few of my secrets at all. Some of them are darker than you can ever imagine."

"Really? Just how _innocent _do you think my mind is? I _kill _people for a living, sometimes in the worst way possible. Just how far do I have to fall into darkness to understand you, woman?" he asked, drawing closer to her. They stood eye to eye, the tension in the air visible. Leliana had a feeling that it wasn't just the past few days they were arguing about.

"Much. Farther," she ground out through clenched teeth.

"That right there is your problem," he drawled lazily. "You think that nobody could possibly understand you on any level. But you don't _know _people. You assume that nobody has gone through what you have. We've all suffered. Why do you think you've suffered the most?"

"That's enough you two!" Leliana intervened. The look Elda shot him was deadly, the most frightening she had ever managed. The bard put a hand on both of their chests and spread her arms, shoving them both back from each other a good foot or so. "No fighting in front of the little one." She tilted her chin to indicate Rinna who was looking rather calm.

Elda sighed heavily, turning her head away from him. How had she managed to stay with him throughout the blight and beyond? He was absolutely insufferable. Wiping some imaginary dust off of her shoulder, she exclaimed, "I'm going to have a look around. Should I be scaling any walls, I'll let you know."

"Well, I'll be right behind you, princess," he sneered, following her out the door. Before she left, she paused at the door, addressing Leliana.

"If we're going to be touring the castle all day, perhaps it's best you watch Rinna? Should we suddenly break out fighting..." she trailed off.

"All right," Leliana replied, unsure.

Syn trotted off with them.

Holding her hand out for Rinna, Leliana said, "Maker help him if she gets that collar off."


	9. Wounded

**Title: Snow and Ice**

**Rating: Mature**

**Warnings: Sexual content, minor language, violence, blood, use of alcohol**

**Summary: Once upon a time, a maleficar had stopped the blight. Afterwards, she'd left for the colder North, leaving love for a life of loneliness and wandering. No one was to look for her. So why was Alistair calling her back? Zev/Surana**

**Author's Note: ****Thank you for reading. Review please. **

* * *

Chapter 9

She started the day off by popping into the kitchen and grabbing a piece of hot bread to snack on while she toured the castle. Zevran greeted the cooks with a bow, making the younger apprentice blush furiously. Elda did not wait on him while he chatted them up but simply continued on regardless of his presence, searching the high walls for points of weakness, lazy guards, or places of importance. She could not climb the walls. Never had she been a very experienced climber. She was a mage, pure and simple. Her strength lay in magic, and with that power taken from her, she was quite literally lost on what to do. Taking down Zevran with a dagger and adrenaline was possible. Escaping a castle with the same tools and Rinna was not. As she tilted her head here and there, as the guards tensed when she walked past, as the dogs growled at her, she knew she would have to get the key from Zevran if she wanted out. And that would require a masque of charm and persuasion she did not have nor could she stomach.

The sun beat down on her back, stinging her pale flesh with its intensity. Yet she reveled in it. Too long had she been stuck in the shadows of the icy wasteland to the North. She longed for the hot sun on her back, the collective howl of dogs, and the sweet hum of machinery. All of it was familiar, an old dance she couldn't forget. But while she delighted in the taste of the finer things, the lonely call of the wild still appealed to her. She would never see a pack of wolves playing with their young in the middle of a Denerim street. She wouldn't be able to listen to the collective sounds of the wild: whistling wind, crackling fires, and creaking ice.

She made the mistake of sighing out loud.

"Come now," Zevran said cheerfully, all grudges forgotten. "Why so morose?"

"You have me chained like a dog," she snapped. "I reserve the right to be morose." As she spoke, her fingers curled around the metal bar. What was it embedded within the steel that kept her mana from forming? Though annoyingly confining, she had to admit the device was intriguing as well.

"Ah, but chains can be so charming when used correctly," he teased.

"What exactly does Alistair need to do at Eamon's?" she asked distractedly, staring up at the sky with a hand to shield her eyes. A flock of birds squawked overhead. The chantry bell rang out. She could hear children playing in the street, yelling at one another.

"The king has been promising his son for months that he could spend quality time with his godfather," Zevran said lightly, grasping her hand and moving it from her eyes, slowing retreating into a shady spot beneath a tree. So stunned by the news that Alistair was a father that she allowed the intimate touch. At least, until they reached the shady spot. Then, she ripped her hand away as if he had burned her.

"Alistair has a _son_?" she demanded, bewildered.

He raised an eyebrow, leaning against a thin sapling. "Why so surprised? It is no more shocking than you having a daughter, surely."

Ignoring the last remark, she asked, "But—but what is his name?"

Here, Zevran made a face that clearly said he disapproved. "Such a tasteless name was never formed. Duncan, he is called. And Anora happened to convince that unwitting templar to give the boy his grandfather's name as well. Duncan _Loghain._"

Wrinkling her nose, she had to agree. "That is truly awful."

"Yes, but there is little that can be done now. I cannot imagine what horrible title the two of them might have come up with if the child had been female," he snorted.

"Leliana didn't help them pick out the name? That seems something she would do," Elda said.

He shifted, crossing his arms and glancing to the sky. With his burning eyes somewhere else, she felt herself relax a bit more. "She was not here. Has notbeen here for a very long time. The boy is but two years old. She returned only two months ago from Orlais. She departed a year after you."

"The boy...he is all right, isn't he? The taint hasn't affected him?" She didn't like the worrying tone that crept into her voice, yet somehow couldn't seem to keep it out.

Zevran glanced at her, smiling knowingly. "You wonder if he is slow? Duncan is a healthy child, much like your Rinna."

_I would like to see him, _she thought. _Alistair and I were not supposed to have children. I would like the see the second miracle that has occurred since my departure._

Zevran cleared his throat to get her attention. "While you and I are not on the best of terms, perhaps we should simply get this awkward bit out of the way? You despise me because I am encroaching on your freedom. Understandable. And I _did _break my silent vow never to follow you let alone kidnap you. But recently something has occurred to me. Would you entertain me for a moment?"

Tensing, she felt the sudden urge to run away. Yet it was better that he knew for certain, rather than wondered, and she couldn't make herself dismiss the topic. "For a moment."

As a bird of prey might circle, he made a path around her, arms still crossed, eyes searching the sky. "I heard a rumor that you had been traveling with a rather short companion. Dwarf? I thought. Imagine my surprise when I come upon your campsite and see a child who looks marginally like yourself curled up on a cloak in the grass, fast asleep. Immediately I paused, uncertain. Then _everything _seemed to make sense suddenly. Six years ago...your mood swings, the vomiting. Yet I saw no sign of a child emerging. You spoke no word of I to me. So I dismissed it. But it seems I dismissed it too readily." He paused right in front of her, advancing. She was pressed up against the sapling when he stopped, one hand resting on the side of her head, fingers digging into the stony wall.

"If I had any doubt that the child was not mine, it was dismissed the second you screamed her name and when I saw this still in your ear," he touched the earring lightly, a gem that was just as beautiful as it had been when he gave it to her. "But I would still like to hear the words all the same, if you would indulge me."

She matched her steely blue eyes to his. "Rinna is your daughter, Zevran," she said the words slowly, deliberately, and then shoved her palms against his chest so he stumbled back and away from her.

The weight of the words seemed to crash upon him, and too many emotions flickered across his face for her to identify them all. There was anger, of course. Anger at her for making him miss six years of his daughter's life, anger at himself for not catching it sooner, not going on his instincts. There was a sadness that she couldn't understand. Amusement, happiness, fear. Hope, love, pain. The myriad of emotion made her turn her head away in shame. She should not have hidden it from him. She was wrong to do so. Though the wilds had hardened her, taught her that life wasn't all sugar and rainbows, she still had the ability to feel badly for someone. Had someone done the same to her, she would have killed them for it. Before having Rinna she had never understood why a person would go to all lengths to protect his or her child. When Isolde had begged for Connor's life, Elda hadn't understood. But upon looking into her own child's stormy blue eyes, the understanding had come to her. She felt badly that Zevran had missed that because of her.

She left him there, and he did not follow. Perhaps it was the sullen weight of the news that affected the weather as the sky began to cloud over, fat and heavy with oncoming rain. The bread sat unpleasantly in her stomach. It had been wrong, but she stood by her decision. Zevran had deserved freedom. He deserved it like she did. She knew what it was like to be shackled or else try to leave and lose the life one tried to improve. Once upon a time, she had been selfless to other people and had proven it over and over again. With the weight of the world on her shoulders, every decision had to be made for the best, despite what she felt people deserved or what she felt was right. But in that moment, a child on the way and Zevran just beginning to enjoy his new found freedom, she had been able to choose what she thought would be best for the both of them. The thought that Zevran would now hate her did not go away quickly, but she accepted it. She would never explain her reasoning to him lest he think there was something there of the relationship he could _possibly _salvage.

She wandered around the castle yard, taking in the sights. An inked map of the entire layout was probably still buried beneath her least favorite robes in that cedar chest. Zevran and she had felt it necessary to map the castle themselves before the landsmeet, accenting more important things such as potential exits in a rush rather than just the layout itself. With an assassin at her side, she could see all new details most would miss. Zevran was rather good at focusing and remembering little things.

Elda stopped at the very back of the castle, listening to the shouts of soldiers as they trained. She wasn't far from the training yard. She paused, running her fingers along a hole in the wall. Several holes up the side of the castle wall, actually. She glanced around, feeling the sting of the sun on her back. In one swift movement, she yanked off the black, sweaty robes and jammed her foot into the lowest crevice. How many times had she scaled this wall? The holes were made by her staff and a few stonefists. Slightly functional as a ladder, it lead all the way up to the top of the castle where she often sat to think. From there, she could see all of Ferelden, and the guards would not bother her. No one wanted to climb so high, but she had never been afraid of heights.

With the robes off, her undershirt clung stickily to her sweaty skin. The cotton shirt was too big for her and billowed away from her taut belly in the wind as she climbed even higher. The black cotton shorts she wore allowed her much freedom in her legs. She climbed in a fury, keeping arms at the same height to hold off the inevitable fatigue that came when the blood seeped from her fingers. If she fell...at that moment it didn't seem to matter. She was fifty feet from the ground.

Anger at herself and at Zevran seemed to spur her onward. Her fingers scratched bloodily at the stone, gripping for dear life. Yet she wasn't afraid. Adrenaline kept her mind sharp, focusing on one foot and then the next even as her legs began to tremble. It was enough just to reach the top, to know that she could still do it. Life in the wilds had kept her fast, acute, but not strong. When she finally crawled over the lip of the castle roof, she was panting.

The view was glorious. Ferelden was stretched out before her, the yawning plains open and wide. She stood on quivering legs and stared, feeling closer to the sky than she could ever have felt otherwise. Chantry, shops, marketplaces, the soldiers parrying in the yard: she could see it all. The sun was right over her shoulder, singing her pale skin. It felt glorious. Panic that had been subtlety building in her stomach from being in the closed walls ebbed away into a feeling of almost frenetic release. Up there she was free. Up there, templars couldn't control her with magic and Irving couldn't whisper lies in her ears. Up there she was free, and it was a glorious feeling.

She spread her arms wide and laughed softly to herself for being so childish. To be trapped, it was a fear of hers that only Sten and Morrigan knew of. The fear itself was completely idiotic, but she couldn't help it. Just as a man who is afraid of spiders cannot help but be afraid of them, she feared enclosed walls and stone though she knew how silly it was.

After her heartbeat settled down and the wind dried the sweat on her back, she plucked the leather shoes from her feet and padded around the tar roofing. Beneath the lip of a loose tile, she produced a dagger. Small and compact, it had belonged to a young woman in the tower, a bloodmage. Elda didn't know why she'd taken it when the templars came for the elven girl and ran her through. Now, though, she was glad she had. Setting her shoes down and holding the dagger hilt in one hands, she placed the delicately pointed tip in the middle of her palm.

"Let's see if we can get this collar off with blood magic," she whispered, raking it across the flesh of her unfeeling hand.

* * *

Leliana did not condone spying on her friends. As a bard, she'd spied on quite a lot of people. After a certain amount of time, spying even became easy. She could slip into the most obvious places and not be seen, listening and watching her target's every move. That was not wrong, but she did think it was wrong to spy on her friends. That didn't stop her from hoisting young Rinna into the window overlooking the courtyard and watching as Zevran pulled his former lover into the shadows. Leliana had been ready, of course, to yank the six year old back should the encounter become much more adult. Yet the two of them seemed to do nothing but whisper furiously at one another. When Zevran began to circle her like a...well, like a _Crow_...Leliana had nervously hugged Rinna closer to her chest.

Rinna didn't know it was her mother and father that were fighting. She couldn't have known, and so Leliana tried not to smile too brightly when Rinna asked where Zevran was and why he wasn't playing with her and when he would be back. The child really seemed to like him, and it brought a lightness to Leliana's heart. She hoped that Elda could see it as an equally good thing.

That lightness dropped though when she saw Elda walk sullenly away from Zevran. She was just as shocked to see Zevran throw a glance the mage's way after she disappeared around the castle wall, and then walk in the opposite direction.

* * *

With a sharp cry, she let go of the dagger, drops of blood falling with a hiss on the hot roofing. The blood boiled into dust, blown away by the wind in a matter of seconds. Some sort of magic must have been involved because the roof was not that warm on her feet. Using blood magic always hurt at first, like her veins had been set on fire. Blood dribbled down her arm, falling in fat drops from her elbow. She held her arm out in the wind, whispering words that Jowan had taught her. Her blood boiled, more flowing from the tiny cut. Then something extraordinary happened.

Her collar suddenly was too hot, too confining. It shrank around her neck. Then, she realized it was burning her. Ceasing the chanting immediately, she clenched her fist. But the burning didn't stop when the use of magic did. It continued. She kneeled on the ground, panting with pain. Shakily, she held up her arm. The blood was turning to ash, slowly being blow away as well. The wound on her hand was closing up magically, as if Wynne herself was healing it. Warmth that came from a healer's staff was replaced by a pulsing pain as the wound sewed itself shut. As suddenly as it had started, the burning stopped. She felt sore around the throat, but not severely damaged. For a moment she thought that the collar was a rather incredible little device-

-until she grabbed her hair with bloodied fingers and shook her head back and forth with a strangled cry. She _hated _being trapped. Memories of the tower...well, during those anything could happen. Alistair or Zevran or Leliana could suddenly be the other tortured mages. Guards watching her every movement could be the templars. And one of those guards could surely be the templar who had...who had _raped _her at twelve years old. If she looked hard enough, one of them could even be the innocent, blubbering Cullen. Fingers sliding from her hair onto the collar, she yanked with all of her might, hurting herself more than the collar. Already it was starting to chafe, blisters from the reaction popping painfully. She dug her fingernails into the sides of her neck, hoping that _maybe _if she just could cut off her own head everything would be all right. Purplish bruises would no doubt be there the next morning. Angry at her own weakness, at her own stupidity for even getting caught, she screamed.

She didn't care that anyone heard her, collapsing into a huddled, furious ball of pain and blood and hatred at the edge of the roof. She didn't even entertain the notion that she could possibly fall off the roof when she fell into a fitful sleep.


	10. Tower Torments

**Title: Snow and Ice**

**Rating: Mature**

**Warnings: Sexual content, minor language, violence, blood, use of alcohol**

**Summary: Once upon a time, a maleficar had stopped the blight. Afterwards, she'd left for the colder North, leaving love for a life of loneliness and wandering. No one was to look for her. So why was Alistair calling her back? Zev/Surana**

**Author's Note: ****Thank you for reading. Review please. Sorry, minor writer's block on this chapter. Think it turned out rather well, though.**

* * *

_My lullaby sounds more like distant screams_

_I wake up sleep-deprived from every dream_

_You can sit there and try and watch me heal_

_It's been a long time coming..._

* * *

Chapter 10

_"Cullen," she addressed him, nearly making him jump out of his skin. She was only sixteen years old, but somehow managed to make her voice hard enough that he always thought it was Rehga, another templar. His superior. Staring at her through the helmet, he swallowed._

_"Y-yes?"_

_Maker, but she was beautiful. Her long, sweeping silver hair fell elegantly over her back and neck, ending in rich curls that always got her in trouble with Irving. Somehow, though the apprentices were not allowed to have makeup, she snuck in charcoal to outline her eyes with, accenting the icy blue orbs that regarded him with something like distaste and wariness. Thin and gangly for an elf, he wondered how she managed to make her waist that small without simply falling over dead. Her fingers were long and elegant, curling over the spine of an open book. Black robes, sagging and sweeping, cloaked her entire body in shadows. A bright red ribbon was tied about her middle. She slammed the book shut, earning his attention._

_"Did you hear me?" she demanded, slightly annoyed._

_He did not, but he remembered her reputation for violence and decided to lie. "Of-of course."_

_Exasperated, she edged closer. "Then, can you? Tonight perhaps?"_

_He couldn't help it. His heart thudded in his chest. Cullen was sure that it was even louder with the armor on. "T-tonight? Um, do I need to bring anything?"_

_"Your eyes, perhaps. Or candles if you would like to get back to your quarters without running into a wall. Irving says I cannot practice magic without a templar. I would much prefer your eyes to anyone else's," she muttered, still frozen in the same spot while everyone else scattered to class. Her fingers dug into the spine of the book, dangerous. How could she be so small and still be positively terrifying?_

_He felt a little let down that he would be watching her practice magic rather than...whatever his imagination had led him to believe. Still, as eager as a puppy, the thought that she wanted him and no one else brought a blush to his face. "I will be there," he promised and for once his words were steady._

_She actually smiled at him, though it was slight and lasted only for a second before her long fingers closed on the visor of his helmet. She whispered in his ear, "Best not wear this helmet when you blush so, Cullen. Next moment, there will be steam coming from it."_

_Then she slipped away in a flurry of robes. The other apprentices gave her a wide birth, that girl who had killed a templar. _

Elda was startled into awareness, having not dreamed of the tower in so long. Having not dreamed of Cullen for so long, especially not that insignificant incident. The second the dream wore off, though, she began to feel the cotton of sheets beneath her and not sun-baked tar. Her hair was wet and sprawled across a feather pillow. Glancing up, she saw the familiar canopy of her bed. When a cool washcloth touched her head, she nearly threw herself off the bed in alarm. Only an explosion of pain from her entire body kept her immobile.

"By the Creators, what has happened to me?" she moaned.

"Calm down, my lady," a soothing voice said. It was not one she recognized. "You fell off the roof. The commander has gone to fetch the Healer. I'm afraid you've broken a few bones."

"A _few?_" she gasped, turning onto her side. One arm seemed completely useless. She was sure that the fire roaring in her brain meant that there were a few fractures up there. She couldn't move one leg. There was blood in her mouth, nausea in her belly. She scrambled over the side of the bed and promptly vomited into a floor pot.

The man, who was wearing very clunky armor, skirted around to the opposite side in no time, gathering back her hair to hold it in a bun while she continued to gag and choke. "I should have expected that, I suppose. Leliana gave you a rather potent tonic to keep you asleep. She said you might throw up." Elda's sharp nails scrambled up to take hold of the ponytail he'd gathered, forcing his hand away.

When she was finished, she wiped the remains of milk and bread away, sitting shakily on the floor, bones still throbbing. The man was there with a glass of water. She took it with broken fingers, and he helped her hold it up as she drank greedily.

He was Dalish, that much was certain. Black tattoos curled over the back of his neck, hidden by inky black hair probably for decorum's sake. Humans had hard enough time accepting elves without strange tattoos plastered all over their faces. His ears were much bigger than her own, and one of them was pierced with a tribal earring. Emerald green eyes stared with a mask of concern at her. He was handsome, she supposed, sizing him up. He would be easy to overcome, though. She could tell he was trained with a bow, seeming awkward with the longsword thrown across his back. Only a fool didn't wear a shield when fighting a mage. Apparently, he was a fool.

"What's a Dalish elf doing in the king's army?" she gasped, glancing down at her fingers. Two were definitely broken. She could barely move the other ones. Even though it was the hand she'd damaged beyond repair, she could still feel crumbling bones beneath the burned nerves. Judging by the amount of damage that seemed to be on once side of her body versus the other, she must have landed on her left side when she fell.

"How did you...?" but he trailed off as a very winded Wynne burst into the door, staff in hand. Elda couldn't believe her eyes, and the shock momentarily took away the pain. Wynne hadn't aged a day. In six years, she stilled had the same wrinkles, the same stern look in her eyes mixed with a bit of caring. The spirit possessing her had held on for six years? It was...awe-inspiring to say the least.

"By the Maker! What is she doing on the floor? Zevran, Theron, get her on the bed now. Be mindful of the leg, now, I think it's broken," she barked. Zevran and the guard picked her up off of the ground, laying her gently on the bed. She was in far too much pain to fight them anyhow.

Wynne smacked her on the shoulder. "Don't bite your lip; you'll worry that wound open. We'll have to splint the arm, but I think I can heal the leg. It's not too badly damaged." Cold fingers prodded her skull. "You've definitely cracked your head in several places."

"Keep poking me like that, and I'll have to bite you," she snapped.

Laughing lightly, Wynne grabbed her chin. "Bitten clean through your lip, have you? That'll leave a scar. And if you want me to heal you child, I need to measure the damage." Her hands dove beneath Elda's shirt, and the mage squeaked in surprise. Pain shot through her as Wynne's fingers danced over broken ribs.

"Two broken for sure, no way to tell how many are cracked," she clucked. "Reminds me of the broodmother incident. Took me nearly fourteen hours to fix you then, didn't it?" Smiling, she held out her hand. Theron hesitantly placed something on the palm. Wynne presented it to Elda. It was a long, leather strap full of teeth marks.

"Bite down, dear," said the old mage. "We've got to set that arm."

* * *

_Surana, the mage who never cried, who never showed weakness, was actually perched on the side of one of the great windows at the top of the tower, looking forlorn. Outside, it snowed heavily. The lake was frozen solid, piles of snow collecting on the ice surface. The wintergreen trees were dusted with a wintry coat. Wolves howled in the distance. Incense and spice made up her scent. Jowan paused behind a bookcase, not wanting to alert her._

_Greagoir had made her chop off all of her hair. She'd done it in a fit, angry at the lead templar for ordering her around. Of course the decision to sneak a kitchen knife and chop it all off in a fury came back to bite her rather than Greagoir. Instead of the long, water-like hair that all of the apprentice's were jealous of, she had a mop of short, spiked hair that they laughed at. She didn't care, though. To them, she'd always looked like a freak. An elf with skin too pale to be natural, eyes so blue that it looked as if the ocean was contained inside of them, silver hair, and a thinness most longed for meant she would never be welcome amongst people of her own age._

_"I know you are there, Jowan," she whispered, fingers arched angrily over the glass. Her breath left a mist on the cool surface. "I can hear your heart beating."_

_He laughed lightly, coming out from behind the bookcase. "I will never get over how scary you are. What happened to the nice little elven girl I used to hang around with."_

_The corner of her mouth twitched up in a smile, cold, mirthless. "She died with that templar."_

_Allowing a moment of appropriate silence, Jowan asked, "What are you doing up here, Surana? If they catch you again, you'll be in trouble."_

_Turning her head to look at him, she said, "Might I remind you that you are out of bed, as well?" Hopping off the window sill, she spread her arms. "Even if they do catch us up here, Greagoir will be lenient on me after today."_

_"I guess he will," Jowan laughed. "But you didn't answer my question. What are you doing up here? You've been up here every day this past week."_

_She sighed, glancing at the window. "Do you know what happened a week ago?"_

_He thought for a moment. Jillian had set her hair on fire. Four new apprentices—three elven boys, one human girl, and another kid he didn't have a really good view of—had arrived at the tower. Thoma had become tranquil. But none of that would have her traveling to the top of the tower to stare out of a window. Surana did a lot of strange things. He had no chance at guessing her true purpose. So, he simply shrugged his shoulders._

_The elf put her back to him. "It began to _snow_," she whispered._

_"Ah," was his intelligent response. Surana always liked the snow, but she wasn't allowed outside because of her tendency towards violence and disobedience. Greagoir was far too afraid that she would run away. For good reason._

_"I've never touched snow," she said sadly._

_Jowan felt for her. He'd been in the tower longer, but he was also older. And allowed to visit the grounds when he finished his classes. Of course, that meant the templars were breathing down his neck, but it was completely worth it to breathe fresh air. She wasn't the only person who was stuck inside the tower, though. All of the troublemakers were. But it was worse for her. She'd grown up outside, in the open air of the Dalish until her family had gone to Denerim._

_Before he knew what he was doing, he had grabbed her hand. "Jowan, by the Creators, what are you doing?"_

_"Showing you snow," he replied._

_They were running down the stairs two at a time. She picked up the pace, running with him. Jowan had never elected to break rules before. She wondered just what had gotten in to him._

_At the bottom of the tower, there was one templar guarding the door. Jowan skidded to a stop. She felt fire come alive in his hand, and he let go just to throw it straight at the female templar. She cried out, slamming against the doors. Jowan pushed her limp body aside and opened the door. Cold air blew straight at her face. Jowan grabbed her hand and pulled her through the doorway. She stepped over the body of the templar. A tiny flake fell on her nose._

_Lake Calenhad was glorious with snow on it. She'd never felt such cold before, but she was reveling in it. Jowan smiled tentatively at her. She closed her mouth and smiled tentatively back._

_"They'll have your head for this, you know. Attacking a templar is worthy of death," she murmured._

_"Yeah," Jowan breathed, running a hand through his hair, "but I got to see you smile." Secretly, his heart was beating so fast it was humming. He knew Irving would have his hide. Greagoir would probably murder him on the spot._

_Then, Surana did something that changed their relationship forever. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed his mouth, forcing them back onto a pile of snow. That was how the templars found them, and Irving, as no one had actually escaped, could hardly hide his twitching smile._

Elda was trembling with cold. Standing in the middle of the bathroom, naked, she had her arms around her, soaking wet. The collar at her neck rubbed against the raw wounds. Her arm was splinted, but broken still. Her leg had been completely healed. Wynne, unmerciful, raised up another bucket of ice water and dumped it on her head. She gasped as all of her muscles froze simultaneously. It had been cold in the wilds, but not so cold. When Wynne lifted another bucket, this one still afloat with ice, Elda scrambled over to beg for mercy.

"No, please! Not again," she quivered.

Wynne glanced sympathetically at her, "Dear, I have to lower your body temperature. You're running a fever."

"I'm frozen! You can't possibly lower it anymore," she cried. "This is torture!" Wynne dumped the water on her head, and Elda curled into ball at the mage's feet, whimpering. Moments between buckets were the warmest. Chunks of ice clung to her hair.

Zevran seemed to take pity on her. "Surely there are other ways," he suggested.

"Perhaps," Wynne said at last, "that is enough. I hope it will help."

The guard was in the hall, respecting her privacy. As Zevran had both had sex with her and seen her naked plenty of times, he had no such respect. He unfolded a fur blanket and placed it around her shoulders, rubbing at her bare flesh to instill some warmth. She truly was a frozen mass. Whispering comforting words—even he couldn't be so callous as to tease her while she shivered so—he helped her to her feet and into the bedroom.

Later, after Wynne had left with Theron in tow, Zevran brought Rinna. The girl was asleep in her father's arms, curled against his chest so naturally it was as if she was sculpted just to fit there. Elda thanked him when he tucked the child in and then sat with his back to her, staring into the fire. Luke warm but still shaky with shock, she whispered to him, "Zevran, Alistair will be gone for three days?"

"Two, my dear," he replied. "This was the first day."

"Do you think—if you come with me—that we could make a trip?" she rasped. A shiver wracked her body. Rinna moaned softly in her sleep and curled closer.

He turned around, puzzled. "And where would you like to go, _mi amora_?"

"To the Circle of Magi."

* * *

**Jowan was just too priceless to throw away. Before you bite my ear off, there is a reason that Greagoir wouldn't kill them both on the spot for being apostates. After all, they didn't kill Anders, now did they? And, yes, I stole the name Theron from one of the origins stories. Now we're getting into it!**

* * *


	11. Depart

**Title: Snow and Ice**

**Rating: Mature**

**Warnings: Sexual content, minor language, violence, blood, use of alcohol**

**Summary: Once upon a time, a maleficar had stopped the blight. Afterwards, she'd left for the colder North, leaving love for a life of loneliness and wandering. No one was to look for her. So why was Alistair calling her back? Zev/Surana**

**Author's Note: ****Thank you for reading. Review please. **

* * *

Chapter 11

"My lady," Theron greeted pleasantly as she limped towards him on the training grounds. His eyes took in the battered state of the mage. Her arm was cast in a sling. That collar looked fit to choke her, and a bloody line in the shape of teeth cut through her bottom lip. Wynne had done well in healing the mage's broken leg, but Elda was still hobbled. Without magic, she was vulnerable but not unprotected. Four guards marched with her, whether to guard or monitor, he had no idea. Zevran was hovering in the background, clearly expressing his disapproval with tense body language and not so subtle glares in Theron's direction.

"Theron," she inclined her head. "Zevran and I are about to leave for the Circle of Magi. I was wondering if you might like to come along. With bandits and everything, we'll need all the soldiers we can get."

Theron appeared pleased but surprised. "I am honored, but I have seen the guards you've collected. Quite a bunch. They should prove efficient in handling bandits or darkspawn. Why do you need my help?"

Truthfully? She didn't. With the four guards, two knights, and Zevran traveling with her, she needed no one else to take up space and food. However, after the night before when she was a whimpering, broken mass, she felt a sense of connection between them. They had much in common after all, birthplace to begin with. Love for the Dalish and service to the king. When she couldn't trust Zevran to watch her back or the men under his command, she needed someone to rely on. Theron was that unfortunate soul, though he'd yet to prove his loyalty at all. What she felt was strange and unreasonable, but she felt it all the same. "You are Dalish, and you know the woods well. I am as much a prisoner as a companion in this group. They will not listen to me."

"So you need a guide?" he asked, smiling slightly.

Zevran interceded before she could reply. "The lady requests your presence, Dhairi, and you will come with us regardless of _why_. Gather your things and meet us in the throne room in ten minutes." He marched away. Theron straightened up and saluted his back dutifully. The Dalish picked up his bow from the ground. She marveled at it.

"That...is a beautiful bow," she breathed, eyes widening slightly. Pitch black in color, the wood arched thick and strong. Several symbols and carvings were pressed deep within the bow, reminding her of Master Varathorn's work. She had never learned to shoot a bow herself—she was far too impatient, and Leliana simply _never _shut up—but she could recognize a beautiful piece of art when called upon.

Theron glanced vaguely at it and laughed. "Truly, it is. My mother was Master Crafter of our clan. She did amazing things with very poor materials."

"But that is ironbark," she protested. "Not poor at all."

"No," he shook his head and held the bow closer to her. "See the indentations? This is oak, unfortunately. It was the first bow she ever made for me, but I was teased quite a bit because it was of poor quality. So she dyed the bark and heated it to strengthen the wood."

"Your mother did this with oak? Even Master Varathorn in the Brecilian forest was not so talented," she said. Theron's eyebrows furrowed.

"But what of your own master?" he asked, finding it curious that she would bring up a different clan's crafter instead of her own.

She hesitated. "I-I truly do not know. I was taken to the tower at a young age when my family visited Denerim to resupply our clan. I remember very little of my clan..."

One of the guards behind her spoke up. He had a rough voice, black mustache poking out from under his helmet. "My lady, perhaps this isn't entirely appropriate. The commander-"

"Silence," she snapped. "I do not belong to your _commander _any more than he belongs to me. Should I desire to have a conversation with this man, then I will do so. You have taken away my freedom and my ability to do magic. You will not take away the last bit of entertainment I have left." She said the words with such a finality that the man, clearly older than her, was struck silent. He nodded once in understanding, shifting a bit on his feet, completely uncomfortable.

Theron chuckled lightly, slinging the bow across his back. "As cute as you are, standing there defending our conversation, I best go pack before the commander jumps down my throat. If you will excuse me," he bowed lightly, mirth dancing in his too green eyes and then walked away.

She wrinkled her nose. "_Cute_?"

* * *

Her mount was a beautiful creature. She had a lacquer shined coat, black as midnight and short-haired. The mane was long, falling straight and clean as if someone had just brushed it. Tall and sleek, the horse carried an air of pride that forced a smile on Elda's face. Zevran was patting the horse's muzzle. "I thought you might like her," he said, clearly proud of himself for doing a job well done. Elda couldn't help it. She started forward and pressed her palm against the creature's nose.

"What is her name?" she asked in awe.

"Andraste," Zevran grinned.

She frowned at him. "You don't think that's mocking human religion just a little?"

"I never said it wasn't," he shrugged, leaving Andraste and mounting his own chestnut stallion. "It's definitely mocking human religion when I say it. Though it was Leliana who named her..."

"Leliana named a horse Andraste?" repeated Elda with disbelief. "That's strange, even for her. She's dangerously religious."

"Maybe she worships the horse, too," a voice drawled in her ear. Theron appeared from nowhere with a pair of reins in his hand. Carefully, he drew it up over Andraste's head and handed the reins to Elda. He eyed her curiously. "You don't wear robes on long trips, mage?"

While she had been packing for the long journey, Elda's eye had caught the distinct shine of her Juggernaut armor. Though she hadn't worn armor in a very long time—the silverite metal and lyrium embedded in the surface tended to shine too much in the snow—she missed the feel of its coolness on her flesh. And it had felt like coming home when she put it on. "I'm trained to wear armor, so don't worry. Besides, I can't use magic with this collar on. I might as well have some extra padding."

"Commander, you're not going to take it off?" Theron asked, surprised.

Zevran irritably shook his head. "She's dangerous. Don't get too cozy. She'll slit your throat in your sleep."

She bared her teeth in a feral smile. "I'm saving that for you."

Game to play, he replied, "_Mi amora_, you may sneak into my tent any time you wish, with or without a dagger."

Before she could reply, someone very small threw his or her arms about her waist. She whirled around, smiling, and hoisted Rinna into her arms. She kissed the child's cheek. With Elda under constant supervision, Leliana had been watching her daughter nearly all hours of the day. That meant that Rinna smelled of Orlesian spices and wore fine silks. She was also clean, and her breath was of cherries and peaches. Rinna touched the armor in wonder.

"Momma, where are your robes?"

"I told you I was going on a trip today, remember?" she said, turning around and letting Rinna pet Andraste's gorgeous coat. "I used to wear my armor when I went on trips before."

Rinna buried her tiny fingers into the horse's fur. "Why can't I go with you?"

"It's too dangerous," Elda answered. Leliana hand something her hands, a bit of leather she was toying with. The mage raised her eyebrows when she approached.

"Turn around," Leliana ordered lightly, mirth dancing in her shining eyes. Elda did. She felt her hair being gathered back, fingers running through it. The bard had a soft touch that didn't quite pull on the sensitive strands. When Leliana retreated, a few strands fell in front of Elda's face. "Much better. That is the Elda we all know and love."

"I seem to recall she was not quite so violent then," Zevran quipped. "And...daughterless."

The foolish idea to reply with, "so were you" was quickly squashed in her mind. Instead, she wrinkled her nose. "As far as you know."

"The Circle will hurt you, Momma," Rinna said suddenly, putting her fingers on the vial of blood hanging around Elda's neck.

Elda glanced at her daughter. "Don't be silly," she said. "I won't be hurt."

"But the templars hurt mages."

"No, no, sweetie," Elda corrected, putting her finger against Rinna's lips. "Hush now. I said templars hunt mages. And I am a grey warden. They won't hunt or hurt me." Hugging her daughter tightly, she set the tiny elf on the ground. Then, she kissed flaxen hair. Leliana watched a certain sadness come over her friend. Never had Elda left Rinna anywhere before. To be all alone, absent that tiny voice and warm body, was a strange feeling. "Be good for Leliana, okay? I'll be back in soon."

"How soon?" Rinna asked, fingers squeezing around the metal gauntlets at Elda's wrist. Curiously, her eyes were rather shiny.

"Two days to get there. Two days to get back," said Zevran helpfully.

"Four days, honey. It'll be okay. Leliana will take care of you."

"I don't want you to go," wailed her daughter. "I have nightmares."

"I'm sorry. It's too dangerous," Elda said seriously. "You'll have plenty to do. Leliana is going to teach you so many things."

"My lady, we must go," Theron said. Zevran hushed him.

"All right," she sighed. Kissing Rinna one last time, breathing in her scent, she placed her foot in Theron's laced fingers and mounted Andraste. When Rinna made to lunge forward, Leliana caught her. Perhaps it was cruel to leave her in such a foreign place all alone, but Elda had some things she needed to do at the Circle of Magi. She had her own demons to overcome, and while she was in Ferelden it was probably best to do it. Also, she needed time alone with Zevran. Now that he knew Rinna was his daughter, it would be much more complicated to disappear when Alistair took off the collar. She also had a chance to take the key if Zevran was off guard in camp or in the tower. And surely Irving would never stand for her being collared like a dog...

She did not look back even as Rinna began screaming and crying for her mother, but Zevran was sure he saw Elda's fingernails draw blood from her palms.

* * *

She was watching, and Theron was acutely aware of it. Not long after it had grown dark and the guards had all fallen exhausted into their own sleeping bags, she had demanded that he make a fire. At first, he'd ignored her. Zevran had told him that it was a bad idea because she might still be able to manipulate the fire even with the collar on. But Theron had been pressed and begged and prodded at until at last she had put her frozen fingers on his neck and startled him. After that, he couldn't believe she was even alive. So he was working with flint and tinder to start a flame, and her electric blue eyes were locked on his moving hands. For some reason he couldn't contemplate, that made him nervous. He kept dropping the tinder and forgetting to blow on the embers. His hands were shaking, and there was sweat on his brow from constantly trying to create friction.

"Well, you're warm at least," she giggled. "Perhaps you could warm me up?" She was flirting, teasing, and it felt good.

Theron blushed. "I'm sorry, milady, but this tinder just won't catch. I think it's wet."

"Damn," she said, stomping a foot on the log in front of him and leaning over. As her armor radiated cold, she'd changed into those same black robes with a crimson sash tied around her waist. He couldn't help but think she was beautiful, standing there with the moon at her back. "If I had my magic, this could have been over in a matter of moments. Reminds me of Haven."

"Haven, miss?" he asked, curious.

"Oh, a horrible little town by the mountains. The place was buried in snow," she waved a hand.

"The place where they found Andraste's ashes? You were _really _there, like the stories said you were?" he seemed to be in awe.

"Yes, we found it," she grumbled. "Froze my arse off in that little town. Zevran, Morrigan, Oghren and I were about to quit because of the cold alone."

"But-so Andraste was _real_? Like the humans say she was?"

She gave him a droll stare. "Of course she was _real_. I had my hands in the madwoman's burned bones."

"But, that's incredible, milady."

Elda sneered and curled her fingers around the metal collar. "Despite being collared like a dog and being called maleficar and mage, I am the hero of Ferelden. I didn't hear Ferelden complaining about how it had been saved when the Archdemon was defeated. By magic or no, I saved this country. I did amazing things once."

"You still do amazing things, milady," said Theron, standing up.

"Yes, I fell off a roof and survived," she snorted, raising a hand to flick some hair from her eyes. Theron caught the hand, holding the frozen fingers in his own. Even being an elf as she was, his hand totally encompassed hers. Despite herself, Elda couldn't find the will to pull away. She was drowning in emerald eyes.

"You survived slaying an archdemon. You left all of Ferelden and survived for six years on your own in a frozen wasteland. And you've come back now, when we've got a problem only someone of your skill can handle," he whispered, turning her tattooed hand over in his absently.

"Theron, I'm not here by choice," she murmured.

"No," a smile tugged at his lips, "but you are _here._ And that means the world to people like me."

Her hand was suddenly on his leather armored chest, and she didn't know why. "People like you?"

"Your, um, admirers," he answered, eyes lidded, leaning in. His breath was hot on her mouth, tantalizingly close...

Someone cleared his throat.

Theron jumped away from her as if he had been scalded, but Elda simply tilted her head to the sky with a small smile on her lips. The moon was out in full force, casting silvery rays across the plains of her smooth, alabaster skin.

Zevran shoved a sheathed sword against Theron's chest, hard. The Dalish elf nearly stumbled backwards with the sheer force. "Meet up with Ser Henry for patrol."

Theron was confused for a moment. "My patrol isn't until dawn. With Ser Timry."

"Change of plans. Go," ordered the Crow. Theron left with only a small glance at Elda.

* * *

**I originally wanted this to be five, six chapters max. -.- oops. **


	12. Even

**Title: Snow and Ice**

**Rating: Mature**

**Warnings: Sexual content, minor language, violence, blood, use of alcohol**

**Summary: Once upon a time, a maleficar had stopped the blight. Afterwards, she'd left for the colder North, leaving love for a life of loneliness and wandering. No one was to look for her. So why was Alistair calling her back? Zev/Surana**

**Author's Note: ****Thank you for reading. Review please. **

* * *

_He grabs my wrist_

_As my fingers turn into angry fists_

_I just poured my heart out_

_There's bits of it on the floor_

_-_Sorry, _Maria Mena_

* * *

Chapter 12

"You do not own me, Zevran," she said suddenly, glancing up at him, "and I wish you would not harbor such thoughts to the contrary."

He smiled, the fire dancing sending shadows dancing across his face. He had proven much more effective in lighting a fire than Theron ever could. In moments, she was sitting on a log opposite of him with deep bruises of insomnia under her eyes and fire crackling in front of her. In a few hours, it would be dawn. Zevran still would not retire to his tent. "I suffer from no such delusions."

"Yes," she whispered, caressing the word, "I thought not."

He glanced up, whetstone and dagger momentarily ceasing movement. "So why bring it up?"

"To confirm it," she said, leaning back on the log and folding her hands across her stomach. The night sky was covered with so many stars. Over the wasteland, the sky was nothing but clouds. She had missed the stars.

"Nevertheless," he muttered over the renewed sound of steel and rock. "I would appreciate it if you would not be so terrible as to seduce my recruits. I do not know if I can win your affections if you throw a new Alistair into the mix."

She snorted. "If you think Alistair was any contest to you, you are not quite as observant as I give you credit for, Assassin." Unintentionally, she had paid him a compliment. Of course, Zevran let it go to his head. He stopped what he was doing, put the tools aside, and propped his chin on his knuckles.

"So there was no contest, hmm?" he smiled.

Scoffing, she rolled onto her side and propped her head up with her elbow. This was a decidedly difficult thing to do while balancing on a log. "Do you think we did not have trysts in the tower, my dear Zevran? I wanted an experienced man, not a child I had to teach. Not to mention, I had been couped up in that gilded cage for so long. You were a man of the world. Alistair...was not."

"And that was all?" he pressed.

"No," she smiled. "You were charming, and I was an angry, lonely child from the tower. My first love had betrayed me for a chantry initiate, convinced me that I was still his friend and he needed my help, then ran away, leaving me to hold the blame. Everyone at Ostagar was dead. I had no family, no friends. You were there to pay me a compliment every now and then, and I found myself falling for your charms."

After a moment of silence, he laughed quietly. "That is the most you've spoken to me since you came back. And not an insult to be found. I appreciate it."

"Do not press your luck," she frowned. "I was just remembering...however I feel about you now, you did show me kindness back then. When I needed it most. I will not forget that. Thank you." The words were so sincere that a bit of her old Zevran came back into his eyes. He looked at her like he had before she left: with love.

"If I recall correctly, _mi amora_, you spared my life first," he said.

"Then, perhaps we are even," she whispered more to herself than him.

"Yes," he acknowledged. "I think we are even."

They sat there for a while, lost in thought and staring at the fire. How many kisses had they both shared with that gentle flame burning in the background? Elda was beginning to realize that though she had no desire to rekindle her relationship with Zevran, it was much harder to walk away from the memories than she had thought. Even she couldn't ignore what they had shared. Every kiss, every night spent in bed, every 'I love you' was there, lingering between them like an ethereal cloud. She found herself staring at him, taking in the shape of his mouth, the tattoo on his cheek. Though he didn't have quite as many tattoos as she did, her markings were on his body. Dalish words were drawn along his hips and stomach. Many a night they had sat on their canopy bed, drawing up designs for one another. It was a bond between them, forever implanted in hot, burning flesh as real as their love. That bond would last forever, regardless of harsh words or hidden daughters or kidnappings.

Zevran took in her bedraggled state and sighed. Just after Wynne had splinted the arm, Elda had torn the sling off and threw it on the ground. The bone was holding together and would heal but not perfectly. She would have yet another scar across her mouth in the shape of teeth. Elda has changed, but she was still beautiful. Deep black bruises were beneath her eyes, signs of insomnia. He knew the price that bloodmages paid to keep their powers. Demons forever haunted their dreams. Still, he knew she had to sleep in order to give her body time to heal. She had been running a fever just the night before.

"Perhaps you should retire to your bedroll? It is late. We have much riding to do tomorrow before the sun sets again," he suggested, standing up and sheathing his daggers.

"I do not sleep much anymore," she told him with closed eyes.

With a grimace, he glanced at the moon. "To be honest...neither do I."

* * *

By the time they pulled up camp the next morning and saddled up, things had already become awkward between Zevran and Theron. Zevran could not, of course, let the fact that the recruit had almost kissed Elda go. He teased him, mocked him, announced that awkward silences were the best thing to keep a man's mind on work, and even—Elda figured it had to be him, no one else would be so cruel—poisoned his food with a stamina draught that had him running alongside the horses instead of riding. Elda ignored their childishness, mind quite set on the approaching tower. The idea was starting to seem very bad. Would Greagoir even want to see her? If she wore gloves, did no magic, could they tell that she was a maleficar? Could the templars punish her even though she was a 'guest' of the king and a grey warden? Where would they stay? Could they stay in the tower? And what was it that she sought by visiting her old home? To conquer an old fear? To look into the Irving's eyes and tell him he had betrayed her? To visit the old room where the rape had taken place? To see Cullen? Remember Jowan? For the first time since the Blight, she was lost. Why had she come?

A darkness seemed to come over the land as they approached the tower. By Lake Calenhad, it was colder, darker, and much more frightening. Robes were pulled tighter around her neck as she had long since abandoned her armor for the cold. She found herself looking up at the tower and swallowing a bit of fear. Chiding, she told herself the fear was irrational. She was free now; the tower was just a building that could no longer hold her power. Greagoir no more wanted her back in the tower than she wanted to go back. Irving wouldn't ask her to stay or tell her she had to now that the Blight was over. At the docks, she dismounted, never taking her eyes off the phallus structured tower.

She had never seen the tower during the daytime. Even when she'd had to go back to save the Circle from the abominations, it had been night. The moon floated just behind it, clouds hiding every bit of the black sky. Placid Lake Calenhad reflected the mage's nightmare like a black mirror. For some reason, the water in the lake was always so blue. She bent near the edge and dipped her fingers below the surface, breaking the tension. Ripples spread clear to the dock.

In the background, Zevran was giving orders. "The templar knights are to come with us. Guards may remain here for the rest of the night."

She pulled up her hood around her face to hide the scratches and scars on the back of her neck. Then, dipping into her bag, she pulled out a pair of thin, leather gloves to yank over her scarred hands. She prayed to the Creators that the templars would not catch the scent of blood magic on her. No one would let her leave, then. She spoke quickly to the ferryman. He, remembering her, offered to take her across. So Zevran, two templar knights, and she all clambered into the tiny boat and let the ferryman take them across. She chatted with him a bit out of nervousness, but mostly stared at the water as if a giant octopus was about to drag them all to the deep. Her heart was thumping fast, and she hated herself for it.

"Greagoir, we have already screened them all to the point of exhaustion. If you were not satisfied that the tower was back in order, you should have said something then. This testing must stop," Irving droned. Six years later, and he still hadn't managed to pick up speed while talking. Irving did look worse for wear, though. His gray beard was much longer, body thinner, the circles under his eyes threatening to swallow his face.

Greagoir was still his stern self, standing across from Irving with an air of insolence. That hatred of mages was apparent in the way his eyes darted about. Unfortunately, the lyrium addiction hadn't claimed his mind yet. A pity, she thought. "Irving that would be the third bloodmage we've had this month! They were not so many in number back then. The screening must continue."

"It will not continue," Irving argued. "These are children, Greagoir. They have been given both a great gift and a great curse, yes, but there are limits to what the body can take. We must continue with classes. I will no longer hunt for bloodmages because of someone else's mistakes."

Elda shook her head beside Zevran's ear. "Same old song and dance. Greagoir grasps at strings, trying to control what cannot be controlled while Irving blocks the attempts. Some things...they never change."

Greagoir glared at them, finally realizing they were there. "You have guests, Irving."

Irving perked up immediately, meeting Zevran midway and thrusting out his hand. "Yes, the letter arrived just before you did. We would be delighted to house the grey wardens during their travels."

"H-house?" Greagoir spluttered. "For how long exactly?"

"Relax, relax my templar friend," Zevran smiled. "We will only be staying for a day or so."

That didn't seem to cheer him up. "Irving, you didn't think to mention this to me?"

"As I said, Greagoir, the letter just arrived. You were too busy jumping down my throat about this testing. I would have told you, given half the chance," Irving explained. Then, he caught sight of Elda. She flinched as his face broke out into a grin that chased away nearly ten years. "If it isn't Elda Surana!" He gathered her in a hug. She clenched her teeth and stood stark still, trying not to breathe in the scent of incense and tobacco and fatherly love.

_He betrayed me. He betrayed all of the mages. I shouldn't feel happy when he's hugging me like this. He is not my father, _she chanted.

"I must say you have changed quite a bit from when you were in the tower," he said, lifting her chin up with a finger. "Many more tattoos, I think."

Elda didn't quite bare her teeth when she smiled painfully and slowly lowered his hand. "It's been a long time, Enchanter. Over the years, I've grown fond of the art of tattooing."

"Hmm, an Antivan and Dalish art, isn't it? Blood writing, the Dalish call it," he smirked in Greagoir's direction.

"I am familiar with the art, Enchanter," Greagoir hissed, then glanced at her. "There is something...odd about you, Surana. I cannot feel your mana."

With slim fingers, she slowly reached up to pull her hood down and reveal the collar, glinting evilly against the white expanse of her elegant neck. The Enchanter recognized it instantly, outrage on his face. He looked to Zevran. "You've collared her? Why on earth...?"

"I'm sure you know what she is capable of. The violence," Zevran answered, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry," Greagoir said, holding up a hand and walking closer to them. "What is this collar?"

"A horrible creation by the Qunari people," Irving spat. "It is the worst thing to do to a mage. The collar takes away all mana and responds angrily to blood magic, leaving the mage completely helpless. You must understand that we mages have always had the power of magic. The collar cripples us. It is similar to you suddenly losing the use of your legs. Not to mention there is the indignity of having a metal bar wrapped around your neck like a domesticated animal. That harsh metal can cause injuries. Only non-magic beings can take it off."

Elda stared in horror. No, that meant she was truly trapped. There was no way out. Only Alistair or Zevran could take it off.

_Or I could steal the key and ask a servant to do it, _she thought. That would still require careful planning. How could they have come up with such a fool proof plan? Alistair and Zevran must have been planning it for months. Or Zevran had just thought of it himself. Did he know what it was like not to have magic? She felt empty, soulless. Elda ran a gloved hand through her hair, yanking on the strands lightly. Why was her life so complex? Couldn't the Creators throw her a bone just once?

"It's been a long trip, Enchanter," Zevran spoke up. "Perhaps we could be shown our rooms? We do not wish to put you out."

"I think we should speak more about this collar business," he said. "This is highly unethical. It should be removed at once."

"He will not remove it, Enchanter," Elda said quietly.

"Deciding when a mage may or may not use her magic is a controlling, self-absorbed thing to do," Irving said.

"It is late," she whispered in response. "I am tired, and seeing as how you cannot take the collar off, I would like to go to bed."

"I'll show them to their rooms, Enchanter," Greagoir said quickly, taking Elda's arm and leading her down the hallway. The two templar knights glanced at each other before following. Zevran gave Irving a lazy smile and sauntered after her as well.

The hallways were long and winding, just as she remembered them. Chanting from the tower chantry could be heard while classes buzzed with exhausted student chatter. She'd never been one to attend the evening classes. That amount of time was reserved for napping and studying so that she would have enough energy to sneak out past the templars to the library and other forbidden places when lights out came. Jowan was always there to cover for her.

Greagoir's arm was hard and cold on hers, the metal of his templar armor giving off an icy air. He walked with his eyes straight ahead, taking in every detail with a calculative mind. "I did not expect you to come back," he said conversationally.

"I am not back," she replied, catching the scent of cinnamon as they walked through the library.

"That is good," he said, "simply because you are not quite as good at hiding your murderous deeds as you think."

To her credit, she kept amazingly calm. "I do not know what you are talking about."

"Don't you, maleficar?" he hissed in her ear. "You are a grey warden now, and grey wardens are authorized to do anything to end a Blight. Hiding your hands, however, does not get rid of the stink of blood in your very skin."

"I am not hiding anything."

"Did you think I wouldn't sense it? You always underestimated me just as I underestimated you," he chuckled coldly. "Now, you may stay as long as you wish. Simply don't teach these magelings to use magic the way you do."

He left her standing in the middle of the hallway, blinking. She was on the second floor already, standing just outside of the room Duncan had stayed in while he visited. How strange that she would come to visit and expect to stay in the apprentice or mage quarters. Elda sighed, and she heard an Antivan accented voice speak beside her.

"Only one bed," he grinned.

She groaned. "Could you be any more juvenile? Did you not hear what he said?"

Zevran hoisted her pack over his shoulder and dropped them on the bed. She followed, disbelieving. "Whispering dirty things in your ear, was he?"

"He knows that I am a...what I am," she finished lamely, not wanting to admit out loud that she was a maleficar. The walls had ears and eyes and sometimes mouths in the tower. She never said anything that she didn't want anyone else to hear.

"A cruel yet beautiful sorceress?" Zevran asked, unpacking his whetstone and lockpicking tools from the leather bag and setting them on the bed. He still hadn't looked at her.

"You know what I mean!" she snapped.

"Did he threaten you with bodily harm? Did he threaten your family?" he asked, continuing to poke through the bag.

"No, but if Greagoir knows, then we have to leave. Warden or no, he could have the templars kill me at any moment with just a twitch of his hand. And I am defenseless with this damn contraption on!" She wrapped her fingers around it in a panic and yanked. Zevran was there in a second to still her hands, fingers curling over her own.

"If you would stop doing that, the wounds on your neck would heal," he said.

"If you would take this off, I would not be so worried," she retaliated.

He smiled. "True, but you are incredibly sexy when you are in such a state."

Feeling as though she hadn't been nasty enough lately, Elda narrowed her eyes and attempted to head-butt him. Zevran ducked, however, and lashed out with his ankle. Legs kicked out from under her, she landed on the hard, stony floor with a groan of pain as her head ricocheted off the cobblestones. She was up in a moment, however, hand darting out to hit him. He caught one flying wrist, dodging the other. He pulled her close, and she tried to knee him in the groin. Instead, Zevran took her wrist and flung her onto the bed, straddling her hips and pinning her hands down with his own, lacing their fingers.

"This is a familiar position," he hummed, eyes locked with hers.

"I hate you," she spat.

"I certainly hope not."

"Vain hope," she scoffed.

"Uh-huh," he breathed. His breath was hot and warm on her neck, nose tracing the length of her jaw. She struggled beneath him, thinking about biting him if he came just a bit closer. Instead, he pulled away and smiled. "That demon kissed you. Theron was just about to kiss you. It seems I'm the only one who is left out."

Her eyes widened. "Don't you do it, you rotten Antivan son of a b-" but she never finished. Zevran's mouth was on hers. Instead of the hot, eager, wet kiss she had been expecting, it was the exact opposite. The kiss was chaste, light and teasing. He barely touched her lips. His grip loosened on her hands, chest pressing against hers, but she didn't register it. Because all of a sudden, she was _home. _Zevran was kissing her in the hallways or in after dinner or before he left for a mission. He was kissing her in front of the fire or in bed at midnight. He was kissing her on long walks because he was a terrible romantic. She melted into it, nostalgia filling every ounce of her being. This was what it felt like to be home and this was what it felt like to be loved. This was what she had been missing every day of her life since she'd left, and this was what she had been missing before she had fallen in love with Zevran. The sights and sounds of the tower disappeared in the love drowning that kiss. But she caught herself before she could fully embrace that perhaps she still liked Zevran a little bit. Her pride would never let it be so. She shoved him off, carefully so as not to be too violent.

She was shaking as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and Zevran, perched on the end of the bed staring at her curiously, noticed. Fingers trembling, she fingered the pendant around her neck, just underneath the collar. "I, um, I need to go to the library," she muttered and flew out of the door in a flurry of black cloth.

He bowed his head, slightly ashamed at himself for startling her so. Another part was angry that she wouldn't just accept that she was still in love with him. Half was delighted that she had responded so well. "This is going to take a lot more work than I had originally thought," he sighed.

* * *

**This took no time at all. :D I should really start working on my book...but I can't tear myself away! Gah. Review, plz.**


	13. Slipping into MakeBelieve

**Title: Snow and Ice**

**Rating: Mature**

**Warnings: Sexual content, minor language, violence, blood, use of alcohol**

**Summary: Once upon a time, a maleficar had stopped the blight. Afterwards, she'd left for the colder North, leaving love for a life of loneliness and wandering. No one was to look for her. So why was Alistair calling her back? Zev/Surana**

**Author's Note: Thank you for reading. Review please. **

* * *

_And all that's left is to accept that it's over_

_My dreams ran like sand through the fists that I made_

_I try to keep warm, but I just grow colder_

_I feel like I'm slipping away_

_-Beauty from Pain, _Superchick

* * *

Chapter 13

She was thumbing through a book she knew absolutely nothing about. She didn't even know the title. Zevran's breath was still on her lips, his scent still filling her mind. Turning the pages absently, propping her head up with an elbow, she was trying not to think about what would happen when she had to go back to her room and sleep. Not that she slept much anymore. The bruises beneath her eyes were a testament to that. For some reason, she was still trembling. Whether it was with fear or anger or frustration or desire, she didn't know. Every emotion she was capable of feeling had exploded inside of her body the second his lips had connected with hers. That frightened her, and fear was not a familiar emotion. Not only that, but when Zevran had kissed her she was suddenly that betrayed elven girl fresh out of the tower and on the road to save the world. Years in the wild, hardening herself, forcing everyone but Rinna away...none of that had mattered anymore. She was vulnerable and young and not a mother anymore. And she hated Zevran for making her feel that way.

_Magic is fueled by mana, which all magical beings are born with..._

"Yes, yes," she shut the book. "I read this library while I was here."

No one was in the library save for two templars who stared at her curiously from beneath their helmets. She was half tempted to creep up to the top floor and glance out the window, but she was overwhelmed with enough nostalgia already and didn't think she could possibly handle remembering any more. Elda sighed and lay her head down on the book. It smelled of moldy paper, a familiar scent. The cover was embossed with a naked tree, stretching out its dead limbs. There was no title, which made her feel slightly better that she hadn't _missed _it, but it just didn't exist.

Standing up, she slid the book into the its place on the shelf and nodded to the templars before exiting the room. She had a lot to think about as she began to wander in the halls. At first, there was no real sense of direction, but when she stopped at the foot of the second story stairs, she knew where she was going. Up, to her and Jowan's secret spot. Such a feeling of freedom came over her as she swept through the halls, templar eyes raking over her body and being able to do nothing to contain her. They couldn't control her anymore. She was free, and that was what mattered. When she got to the top floor, no one was there. But, of course, no one was ever there. The Harrowing chamber was not used for anything but Harrowings, and no one was taking the test. She ghosted up by the window and peered out over the lake, huge and swelling up over the shore. The Spoiled Princess was so small from up there. She could remember looking down at it as a child and wishing she could take just one step inside. After staying there for two days during the Blight, she never wanted to see it again. Even the fleas had bugs.

Elda settled herself in the window, drawing her knees up to her chest and resting her hands in her lap. The broken arm still bothered her a bit, but she'd hiked miles with broken bones before. She was a bloodmage, not a healer, and most of the time had to endure wounds. All the attention focused on her had her slightly self-conscious about the scar across her lip. After all of the battles, the knives, the wounds, her face remained rather unmarked.

There was a reason she only had a few tattoos on her face. Part of the reason was so as not to put off humans when they were talking to her. Supposedly, the art of tattooing was popular for dwarves and elves, but not humans. Most of the reason was because her entire life was wove into the flesh of her body. She didn't want random strangers to look at her face and see parts of her life. She wore Zevran's love on her face, the end of the mighty Archdemon's fall, and her birth. Those were commonplace, trite things that anyone could find out if they dug in the right places. A few of the humans she'd met on her travels didn't understand. They'd told her she could get them removed. There was a magic in the East that could suck the ink from her skin. She'd simply laughed. To look in the mirror and not see her tattoos...she would be looking at a stranger's face, a stranger's body. She wouldn't know herself without them.

Elda sank against the cool glass, feeling the ice press against her cheek. Jowan's ghost seemed to fill the room. He'd often hug her from behind, obsessed as he was with her abdomen. He was obsessed with every part of her actually. He liked to kiss, to run his fingers through her hair, to make love to her while his hands still ran red with blood. She'd thought he was going to escape because they knew he was a blood mage. She thought he had wanted to escape with her.

_"You remember...about a month ago, I said I met a girl. This...this is Lily."_

_"A templar toy," _she had hissed at him. To realize that she had been tricked, betrayed. Well, it had definitely brought back all those feelings of mistrust for men. Jowan hadn't said he met a girl he was in love with; he had said he met a girl who _seemed nice_. There was a difference, at least in her mind, between loving someone and thinking they were nice. And she couldn't believe it at the time.

* * *

_"A templar toy," she hissed, backing up a step from the girl. She was a girl at that, too young, too innocent. Elda wondered just what her bloodmage could see in such a well-mannered creature. She was a shadow of what Elda was. The human woman didn't even have magic. Lily avoided her eyes, afraid._

_"Elda, don't say that! I love Lily. We're going to get married. I know how cruel it is to ask you to help us escape, but you're the smartest person I know. I know you can get us out of here. You're always talking about leaving!" he argued, putting himself between the mage and initiate._

_Elda smiled dangerously, pointed teeth glinting in the poor light. She clenched her fists, hot blood soaking her fingertips as the nails popped through the skin one by one. For the first time in her life, she _felt _unstable. She felt like the monster the apprentices called her. And she threw back her head and laughed. Once she started, she just couldn't stop. It was high-pitched, cold, hysterical. Tears fell from her eyes as she cackled in the chantry, alerting every templar within a mile. Everyone stopped to watch her double over, breathless. Lily and Jowan begged her to be silent, to be quiet. She couldn't. It was just too damn funny. The irony was killing her, coiling like a snake in her lungs and stealing her breath. Elda laughed because she couldn't kill Lily. She couldn't kill Jowan. She just wasn't that cold, yet. She didn't know what to do, so she laughed until the templars took her away._

Jowan had come to her later, begging her to help them. And for some reason, she had. She'd devised a plan (with Lily's help) to retrieve Jowan's phylactery. Her own was not there, but she pressed on anyway. She didn't tell Irving of their plan. She protected them both with her magic on the way to the phylactery chamber. Then Jowan betrayed his little flower. Lily found out what he really was, and the moment was sweet. Jowan had convinced Elda that Lily understood. Standing there with all the templars on the ground, her arms crossed, watching Lily back away and Jowan try to explain himself...she had caught herself smiling maliciously.

Jowan and Elda had made love with a knife between them, the sweet scent of blood and sweat intoxicating. They'd made promises with blood, tattooed each other beneath the skin. They were both marked for death and destruction. That was why Elda had decided to help the lovely couple. Bloodmages were dark, life-sucking entities. Lily would soon learn that when she was pregnant and married and the truth finally came out. Elda would have been satisfied with the ending of the story if Jowan hadn't left her standing there responsible.

Elda chuckled slightly and buried her face into her hands. "I feel like an old woman, reminiscing like this."

She had long ago accepted that Jowan had betrayed her. Seeing the tower, being surrounded by templars...none of that quelled the feeling of unease that rose up inside of her whenever she thought of the old days. The truth was, she didn't know what she was doing there. She had betrayed Irving as much as he had betrayed her by becoming a bloodmage. She had no right to be in the tower. She had no right to come back to her place of learning. No matter what Irving said, the moment she had asked to be taught blood magic by Jowan, she had left the circle. There was no going back.

* * *

Elda wasn't evil. Not really. She did what she had to in order to survive. But even though she killed innocent men so she wouldn't have to live in a prison, fought old friends, used a forbidden art, she was still a good person. She sang her daughter to sleep, gave money to the needy when she passed through a town, paid for all of her food instead of stealing it, was respectful to strangers, and kept her rude thoughts to herself most of the time. She wasn't a _bad _person, just a bit ruthless at times.

Deciding that perhaps that was enough wallowing for one night, she climbed down from the window sill and pulled her robes closer. A chill swept through the room. That was the room, actually. It was the room that the templar had broken her. She didn't even remember his name anymore. If she tried, Elda could remember what he looked like. Black hair, defined muscles, too big, too human. His mouth had been awkward against hers, fingers fumbling over her robes. That was one of the reasons she could never have handled falling in love with Alistair. As a virgin, he would be the same, all awkward hands and fumbling.

She'd cried and cried after it was over, curled in a ball with her clothes thrown on top of her. Greagoir had heard her crying and burst into the room. Sweet relief. She had never felt such a thing. His figure normally inspired fear, preparation for a tongue-lashing, but not on that day. He'd held her tiny body in his arms, a new mageling he didn't know, and carried her away while other templars secured the rapist. She was told that Greagoir had killed the man in a rage. Had run him through. That tiny bit of knowledge didn't make her feel any better. What was done was done. She had been raped, regardless of his punishment. There was nothing Greagoir could do to make it right. That was the reason he was so tolerant of her. Because he had been the one to order that particular templar to escort her around the tower, knowing he was one to gawk at the young ladies. Greagoir would always feel guilty.

She sighed, and began descending the tower. Everyone was in bed at that time, done with classes and ready for sleep. She heard the rushed footsteps of a sneaking apprentice, the giggling of a few girls not quite tired yet, the scribbling of a quill, and the creaking of beds. Stone and ink and incense permeated the air. At one point, she had been immune to the scent. Now, it all but filled her senses. The torches were being doused one by one by templars. A few of them nodded as she passed, recognizing her. Others were new faces with new names and new bloody histories to write with the apprentices. When she reached her rooms, Zevran was not there.

Instead, a templar was shifting nervously on his feet, helmet in his hands. When she entered, he straightened immediately and saluted. "My lady!" he exclaimed.

Crossing her arms and cocking out a hip, she eyed him steadily. "Yes?"

"Ser Arainai asks me to deliver a message for you," he stuttered.

She waited. When he made no move to speak, she spread out her fingers in mid-air. "Please, do so," she prompted.

"He is doing work in the library and will not return tonight. He wishes you a good night, and wishes me to tell you it is okay to lock the door."

_Okay to lock the door? _She thought, glancing at the wooden door. Did it even have a lock? She wasn't sure. Nodding curtly to the templar, she stepped out of the way and gestured for him to leave. "Thank you."

Before he left completely, he paused and handed her a folded piece of paper. "We are at your disposal ma'am."

_With idiots like that guarding my door, escaping would be too easy, _she thought as she gently closed the door behind him. The piece of paper didn't look especially important. She unfolded it, and read:

_There are more templars outside that are far more competent than this messenger. Please do me the courtesy of not running away. If you do, whatever shall I do with this key?_

_With love,_

_Zev_

"Bastard!" she hissed and launched it at the stony wall. Then, she found she was smiling and sitting slowly on the bed, holding her unfeeling hand in the other. He knew her far too well. He would make a dangerous enemy.

She eyed the large bed. It would be difficult to sleep all alone. Rinna and Elda often fed off of each other's body heat. Habit dictated that she sleep with a warm body next to her. They'd left Syn at the castle, afraid he might react violently if his master lost control. Not only that, but Rinna needed someone familiar around. Elda stood and yanked off her robes. If she was going to have a huge bed all to herself, she wouldn't sleep with stuffy robes on. Instead, she grabbed her pack and pulled out a silken nightgown, inky and Dalish in origin. After slipping it on, she brushed her hair and tossed the bag into the corner. With an annoyed sound, she threw herself on the bed and curled up. She didn't bother to lock the door even as she fell asleep.

* * *

Later, deep into the night when she was falling farther into the depths of the Fade, Ikilai came. At first, he just stood at the end of her bed, watching her sleep. For a mortal, she truly was a beautiful creature. Her silver hair had grown slightly, down into her eyes. All of her features were sharp, scarily so. He had never met such an exotic animal. The mixture of different demons in her blood gave her a pungent but intoxicating scent. She smelled of power and magic and incense. That was when he drifted to the side of her and brushed a bit of hair out of her eyes, reveling in the softness of her elven flesh. Living blood pulsed beneath her temples, feeding him with the rapid sound. She moaned at his touch, eyes clenching in pain. Bloodmages suffered greatly for their power.

Ikilai did not know what came over him in that moment, but, controlling his power carefully, he pressed his palm against the pillow next to her head and leaned over, sealing their lips. Just as before, the same feeling of both pain and pleasure overcame him. It was an exotic feeling, to kiss this woman, this mortal. All the women in the past had been playthings. Even the form he was using was bait female mages whose souls he could devour. But this was a feeling that demons in the Fade beneath him experienced. This was lust, want, need. He found himself pining for this mortal. What a creature, to pull this feeling from deep within his long dead heart.

She was responsive, as he predicted she would be. She turned over on her back completely, sighing softly into the kiss, still asleep. Leaning over her on all fours, he gently cupped her face with his hand, tilting her chin to get a better angle. Then, he pressed his liquid hot body against her flesh, feeling her tremble. He was careful not to burn her as he had that one night, stealing all feeling from her fingers. When he had kissed her in the throne room, he had been searching her mind, learning about her. He knew that he had rendered that hand completely useless without meaning to.

Ikilai slipped his hand beneath her gown, rubbing at the scars on her stomach, studying the tattoos on her face as he showered it in kisses. Amazing really, how deeply the mortals could sleep. But her breath was coming in more and more shallow. A bit of her was still alive in there, her hand coming to rest on his chest, moaning under his ministrations, sighing. He suckled her collar bone, running his hands along her sides and up to her chest. He could feel it, what the demons in the Fade sought after. This feeling of complete control over his queen was intoxicating. He found himself wanting more, wanting her. The mortals were interesting as far more than meals, it seemed.

He hiked up her nightgown to expose her brilliantly taut belly to the glow of his liquid skin. He traced the patterns, those lacing symbols, and used his tongue to make her squirm. His hands parted her legs, fingers circling the milky skin there. He wasn't strong enough to _really _touch her as a mortal might. Even as his hands roamed all over her body, he could dip his fingers through her. He was still a shadowy figure, a wisp. The body of the mage he had conquered in the Fade proved to be too weak to hold his power, but the life energy had given him enough to slink from the Fade and into the human world.

"Zevran?"

Her eyes flew open when his fingers delved between her thighs. She sat up with a gasp, but he was already gone, silvery smoke in a room too dark for her to see. She was breathing heavily, her clothes disheveled. She groped around for the edge of the bed, putting too much of her weight on the searching hand and toppling off onto the stony floor. She landed with a groan, still frantic. Tripping over the rug in the middle of the floor, she flew to door and yanked it open. Grabbing a candelabra from a table in the hallway, she pulled her nightgown down over her thighs with only one destination in mind:

The library.

* * *

**If I don't start working on my book again soon, I'm going to get in trouble. So sorry if the updates come a little later. I'll try to keep it regular, but just in case. Review please! Um, i don't know why keeps screwing up my layouts and fonts, but I'm trying to keep fixing them. If you find a problem, please alert me. None of the text in the story should be bold.**


	14. Too Many Problems

**Title: Snow and Ice**

**Rating: Mature**

**Warnings: Sexual content, minor language, violence, blood, use of alcohol**

**Summary: Once upon a time, a maleficar had stopped the blight. Afterwards, she'd left for the colder North, leaving love for a life of loneliness and wandering. No one was to look for her. So why was Alistair calling her back? Zev/Surana**

**Author's Note: Thank you for reading. Review please.**

* * *

Chapter 14

She stumbled upon him reading in the library, flipping through a very large textbook on a desk somewhere obscure in the back of the room. He glanced up at her immediately and was on his feet as she flew into the room. Wax from the candelabra splashed everywhere. She nearly ran into him.

"What is wrong, my dear? Or were you just so eager to see me, you couldn't help but sprint down here in nothing at all?" He certainly appreciated the way the black nightgown hugged her slim hips and small breasts, falling delicately over her thighs. Still, he kept his eyes on her face. Paler than usual, she had a frightened look in her eyes. That made him pause.

"You..." she paused, gathering her thoughts. "You were not...by any chance, just in my room? Running your hands all over my body?" Truly, it was the wrong thing to say to the Antivan assassin. Zevran would never take advantage of an unwilling, sleeping woman and she knew that. He didn't have to. Not only that, but it was stupid because there was no way that he could possibly have been in her room and gotten back into the library in the dark before she did. Also, even if he had, there was no way he could be sitting in the back of the room reading a book with papers spread out all over the desk as a clear sign that he had been working all night.

Zevran grinned. "Dreaming, were you?"

"Be serious!" she snapped, losing her temper. "I have just been violated, you fool."

All teasing faded. Suddenly, it was the cool, collected assassin standing before her. Grabbing a single candle from the stretching arms of the brass instrument in her hand, he lit three candles on the desk and a torch on the wall. A little more light in the room allowed her to see the insomniac visage he was adopting. Setting the wax down on the desk when he was finished, he gestured for her to sit. She refused. He stood in front of her, arms crossed. "Start at the beginning. Was there someone in your room? Did you see anyone?"

"No, I-" she cut off, slowly letting out a breath. Setting the candelabra down with a shaking hand, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I cannot explain it. It's like someone was touching me with magic. With electricity, not fingers. At first, I thought it was a dream, but I woke up with my clothes all bunched up around my waist."

"You couldn't have rolled around? Bunched it up yourself?" Zevran asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I-" she paused. That was a distinct possibility. "Yes, I suppose I could have. But it wasn't a dream, what I felt. _Someone _was touching me, Zevran. I swear. Someone with magic, power."

He stared at her, thinking. Grabbing her hands, he forced her to sit in a chair across from him. "I know it's late. I know you've had a scare, but I need you to tell me about the demon that you conjured in Halisk."

She wrinkled her nose. "Halisk? How do you know about that? You don't think it was Ikilai who was in my room?"

"Ikilai?" Zevran prompted.

Against her better judgment, she began the story. She told him why she had conjured Ikilai in the first place, how she had done it. She explained how he had grabbed her from behind and pulled her into the pentagram, kissing her and stealing a bit of her essence. Zevran didn't understand how this mean he could find her wherever she went, so the mage ended up explaining that, too. She showed him her hand, the one that had been so badly damaged, and told him of the templars that chased her. Apparently, the templars had reported to the king that they'd felt a surge in magic at the heart of Halisk, and that was how Zevran knew about the demon in the first place. Zevran took it all in stride, understanding necessity. He didn't lecture her. Of course, she didn't expect him to. Zevran never judged her. No matter what she did. Even if she tried to kill him.

"Based on what you've told me, and on the fact that he both kissed you and called you his 'queen,' I think that it must have been the demon in your room tonight," Zevran said when she finished.

She shook her head and spread her hands helplessly. "But Ikilai is not a demon of Desire. He is a powerful Pride demon, one of the most powerful. This does not make sense."

"What makes a demon a demon?" he asked.

"Demons are spirits that are corrupted by their desires. Ikilai was a spirit that fell to his own pride," she explained, still disbelieving. "There is no reason he would come after me."

"You're a mage," Zevran said. "Maybe he wants to possess you? Turn you into an abomination?"

She shook her head. "I have made enough deals with demons to ensure that never happens. Besides that, he had me _in his arms _in that pentagram, and he let me go. That would have been the perfect time. He could have devoured my soul."

"So why didn't he?"

"I do not know," she replied, sighing. "Maybe he has a bigger plan?"

Zevran growled. Clearly he was agitated. "This speculation is getting us nowhere," he said, standing up and beginning to pace. The sun was just coming up over the horizon. Though there were no windows, she had an internal clock that could not be denied. Life was stirring in the recesses of the apprentice quarters. They would have to leave soon.

She spread her hands. "Ikilai is a demon that I hardly know anything about. I sought a powerful demon in the Fade to make a deal with, and he just showed up. I wish I knew more. If he is making sexual advances on me, it must mean that he is being corrupted by more than just his pride. He will make a dangerous enemy."

A hand came down on the desk. Zevran's eyes bore into hers. "But how did he get out? Aren't demons confined to the Fade unless they find a mage to possess?" It was bothering him that he knew so little about the situation, she could tell.

She hummed, biting her lip in the exact same place as her not-quite-scar. "When he stole my essence...well, it may have given him enough of a form to get out of the Fade. Or perhaps he has used the life force of another mage. I told you, the form that was touching me did not feel human. There was something...he was still part shadow. Not tangible."

"How strong can he be, then?"

Owain was opening the stock room. Elda sighed. "At night, I am forced to wander the Fade and fight demons until morning. I know the strength of every kind of demon. But this...this power. I have never felt anything like it. Even as a shade, he could probably have stolen my life force."

Stopping his pacing, Zevran ran a hand through his short, blonde hair. Since their reunion, she found herself at times wishing his hair was still long. Though she could the see the logic in changing his identity if the Crows still sought his life. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and relaxed, the tenseness of his shoulders melting away. Sitting down across from her at the desk he'd been working at before this sudden speculation began, he folded his hands on the desk and stared into her eyes. "You know more of the Fade than I ever could, having spent more time there than I think you'd like to admit. As much as I'd like to appear confident and teasing, I am afraid I find myself worried about the mother of my child,"-she stared guiltily down at her hands for some reason- "However much I would like to protect you or console you, this...demon is something you brought upon yourself. I know shadows and the dark depths of the human soul; I know death and destruction and chaos, but I do not know magic." Here he spread his hands helplessly.

The words sunk deep and penetrated her cold heart, startling it and forcing it to skip a beat. Zevran had most definitely changed from the man she once knew, the man who would tell her wild stories by the fire at night when a battle at dawn might claim their lives. Talking with him had shown a growing maturity, an incomplete thing. Where he would have teased her once, he was a bit more serious. She had known both the sarcastic, funny son of a whore and the deadly assassin hidden behind the mask. Looking into his eyes, she could feel the truth in his words. He wouldn't tell her not to worry because she should worry. He wouldn't tell her he could protect her because it wasn't true. She was not the only one who had hardened over the years, and she felt that truth sink straight into her soul.

She stood abruptly, palms flat on the desk, staring down at her feet. "You are right. This is my fault, and I will deal with it." The sudden coldness in her eyes as she straightened and turned around was not lost on him. She called back over her shoulder, "You should get ready, Commander. The king will not wait forever, and we should depart soon."

Zevran groaned, rotating his shoulders to rid them of their stiffness. He wasn't quite sure that one night of roaming haunted hallways was enough to destroy all of her figurative demons, but he would not ask her if she was all right. No one who was raped, beaten, watched, tormented, and betrayed in one spot was ever all right when in that spot. He tilted his head back, leaning the chair and propping his foot up on the desk. Scattered rays of light fell from some crack in the high ceiling. Sometimes, Elda was as tough as wood, and the only thing he could do was cut away the rough bark to get at the smooth center. He'd spent months trying to crack her exterior before, and he had no doubt that it would take the same amount of effort if not more to break it a second time.

* * *

Andraste was in a foul mood that reflected her mistress's own personality perfectly. After saying her goodbyes in the tower and packing up all of her things, Elda had refused to even speak to Zevran, not responding at all to his prodding and gentle teasing. She wasn't sulking, just deep in thought with her shoulders hunched over. Elda was trying to rack her brain for too many things at once. She needed a way to deal with Alistair's problem quickly so she could be on her way, destroy Ikilai and whatever foul scheme he was planning, maim or kill Zevran for kidnapping her in the first place and being so smug about it, and get the damn collar off her neck so as to be able to do at least three of those things in the first place. So far, the collar had proved to be completely irremovable by the wearer. That was the most important problem. With no other choice, it had to be dealt with first.

Theron rode up beside her, his mare's blonde coat shining with sweat from the hot sun. He smiled at her, "So how was the tower?"

She looked to the sky. Two birds circled overhead. Scavengers. "Full of bad memories."

"Surely there were some good memories, too? I hear mages spend their entire lives in that tower. It can't have been all bad," Theron argued, brows furrowing.

No, it wasn't all bad. The bad memories had swallowed up most of the good ones, but if she tried, she could remember sweet times. She could remember the time she and Jowan had snuck into Owain's shop and got into the paint at a young age. They'd come out in four different colors and stood there for an hour while Irving lectured them, all the while holding hands. Or when Jowan and she were caught kissing in a storeroom by Cullen. The poor boy couldn't possibly have been any redder. "No," she said, "there were good times, too."

"Glad I am to hear it," he replied.

Feeling a bit better, Elda nudged Andraste's sides carefully until she sped up. When she was at Zevran's side, she slowed down. "I can smell water around here. The horses need water, Zev, and we need to get out of this..."_ Heat_, she finished. It was the smile on his face that made her trail off. "What?" she demanded, scowling.

"Nothing at all. You're right, of course," he patted his horse's neck. "We'll stop for a break until midday passes." The sun was directly over them at that point.

Elda fell back, allowing the guards to pass her until she was at the very back of the group. She replayed the conversation over and over in her head, catching nothing that would make him smile.

_"The horses need water, _Zev_."_

She nearly fell off her horse in fury at his immaturity. _Really_? Her attention gave him way too much pleasure. How was she supposed to hurt him when even her fists made him smile? That was the same way it was before. And just when she had thought Zevran had grown up just a bit, he did something so childish. Bristling, she ushered Andraste into a gallop and got to the river up ahead before any of the men did.

She dismounted and led Andraste to the bank, not bothering to tie her up. Flopping down beside the river, Elda removed her leather shoes carefully and inspected her toes. Then, she had to stop and wonder why she even bothered. It was hot outside, a searing heat actually, and she was checking her toes for frostbite. "Old habits die hard," she muttered, amused at herself.

Dipping her toes into the silty riverbed, Elda closed her eyes and let the coolness of the shaded region wash over her. One could hear the chirping of birds, the playfulness of fish in the stream, and the whistle of a soft, sleepy breeze. She was careful not to put too much pressure on her injured arm. A demon not long ago had ensured she healed quite quickly, but it was still painful. The collar still chafed against the fragile wounds already present on her neck. She vowed never to collar Syn again.

"It seems I've found a river nymph," an accented voice declared.

She groaned, and opened one eye. "Can you not leave me alone for a moment?"

"Staying away from you would involve pain. I have never been much of a masochist."

"I'm beginning to think you are," she sighed. "How can you put up with my company when I am so cruel to you?"

He laughed, carefree. "You are not quite as mean as you think you are." Zevran sat on the ground with much more grace than she had. Sitting at her feet, he managed to pull one of them into his lap, removing the leather shoe.

Her fingertips curled around a flower and pulled until the roots caved in. "Do not play with me," she warned, leaning up to slide the petals across his throat, tossing it to the ground.

Pointed, elven teeth gleamed at her as he smiled. "I'm quivering with fear, Miss," he promised, fingers massaging her foot.

Unused to any physical contact at all, beyond the occasional hug of her daughter's small body and the curling up at night in order to keep warm, it wasn't a surprise to anyone when she tensed. The muscle in her leg contracted as if ready to jump up and away. Her entire body went rigid even as he moved his fingers up and down her foot, simply massaging. Instead of jerking away from him, however, she thrust her chin aside and refused to look at him.

Meanwhile, he was inspecting her toes. "Amazing that you have all of them still," he commented. "And no tattoos down here. I know you've got them on your calves."

She sneered, "And how would you know that?"

Laughing, he gave a playful tug on her ankle. "Do you really wish me to go into detail with the guards standing just over there, hmm?"

"I only had one tattoo on my right thigh, then," she argued. "My calf tattoos were done in a Dalish tribe to the North. Matching because I met twins who saved my life."

"My dear, the first day you woke up in the castle, you changed right in front of me," he chuckled. That was true.

Elda gave an exasperated sigh and let her arms give out, flopping onto the ground. The sky was a straight blue that day, not a cloud in sight. She had to admit it was nice to simply lay there and take in the soft whistling of birds and trees. Nothing but howling wind could be heard in the frozen wasteland, along with the occasional sound of a barking wolf. The sun seared her flesh where it cut through the trees, and she reveled in it, sighing contentedly and closing her eyes. Zevran's fingers worked on her smooth feet, separating her toes and forcing her to relax. It wasn't long until he started on the other one. Thankfully, he didn't speak at all.

She fell asleep under his ministrations, and Zevran felt it when her entire body relaxed. He smiled softly, leaning over to brush a few stray bits of hair out of her eyes. Six years, and she hadn't aged a bit. Six years and her skin was still just as smooth, just as supple. He picked her up and began gesturing for the guards to pack up. It was time to go.

Zevran paused at the stream, a horribly mean thought coming to him. Riding with her on his horse would mean that someone would have to take care of Andraste. Also, when she woke up she would likely throw a fit. He couldn't _just _wake her up by shaking her awake. Instead, he padded to the edge of the stream, raised her up over it, and dropped her like a dead weight.

In record time, she surfaced with a look of murderous fury plastered onto her face along with her hair. "Zevran, you son of a bitch!" she shrieked while he laughed on the bank. Her clothes were entirely soaked through, the water deep enough to go just up to her neck. If her magic had worked, he most certainly wouldn't have been standing there still. At least, not alive. Ducking under one last time to get the hair out of her eyes, she stood up and charged at him.

Zevran caught her slow strike with one hand, still chuckling to himself. She pulled back with the other fist, forcing him to turn his back to the water, and let it fly forward. Lazily, he ducked low, hands going about her waist and yanking her forward. Then, he propelled her up so that she was over his shoulder, dumping her right back into the water. She landed with a smack, going all the way under. The guards were looking at them curiously. Theron appeared slightly worried.

"Commander, maybe you shouldn't antagonize her like that," he warned, unsure. She hadn't resurfaced quite yet. Zevran straightened and shot him an amused glance.

"I know how to treat what's mine, boy," he replied. Elda's hand shot forward from the stream, clasping about his ankle with a cold, wet grip. With all the strength in her body, she yanked on his ankle. He overbalanced, but before he could catch himself, she leaped from the water and hooked her arms about his waist, dragging him under. Water splashed over the earthy bank. He landed backwards, right on top of her. While he was still in shock, she slipped out from beneath him (her robes were less heavy than his wet armor) and launched herself at him again. Zevran's head was underwater, but he didn't seem worried.

Underwater, her strikes were even slower, so he had time to dodge. Her fist met with silty river bed as he turned his head to the side. The water resistance was huge, but even wet she weighed nothing. His hands went back to her hips, picking her up. She fought this time, though. Before he could make it to the other side of the stream, she kicked him right in the knee. He fell on his back, hitting his head on the dirty ground. That didn't slow him down, though. This time, he rolled them so that he was on top, wiping the water from his eyes. Both of their legs were still in the stream, but the top half was on the dirty bank. Droplets fell from his hair onto her face. She was glaring, her sharp fingernails digging into his shoulders. One leg was wrapped around his. Mirth danced in his golden eyes, the heat of the sun on their back already attempting to suck the moisture from their clothes and skin.

Suddenly, they were all alone. She stared, panting, into his eyes as he stared into hers. Mages didn't fight with their hands. She had no chance, but she fought so hard. He admired that about her. Before he could think about what he was doing, that there had been a six year gap that kept intimacy with her at bay, he tucked a strand of hair behind her delicately tipped ear and kissed her mouth.

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**Posting not too bad, right? I was a bad girl and focused on this instead of my book, but I did write three or four pages! Hurray! T.T I am so dead.**


	15. The Mage

**Title: Snow and Ice**

**Rating: Mature**

**Warnings: Sexual content, minor language, violence, blood, use of alcohol**

**Summary: Once upon a time, a maleficar had stopped the blight. Afterwards, she'd left for the colder North, leaving love for a life of loneliness and wandering. No one was to look for her. So why was Alistair calling her back? Zev/Surana**

**Author's Note: Thank you for reading. Review please.**

* * *

Chapter 15

Elda gasped into the kiss and jerked back, but made no other move. Their lips were torn apart, and she glared at him without mercy. Zevran was grinning from ear to ear, clearly pleased with himself. His heartbeat invaded her senses, the warmth of his sun-kissed skin pressing into her icy flesh; the taste of his lips lingered on her lips; the earthy, musky scent of him enveloped her. She smacked his chest half-heartedly. Zevran leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together, panting lightly himself. Liquid gold threatened to melt her icy stare. She just couldn't win, it seemed. She could not win against this...this creature that refused to be swept aside like some trinket from the past. The nostalgia of the situation made her chuckle breathlessly. Zevran misunderstood.

"I knew you were in there somewhere, Elda," he whispered against her cheek, pressing a kiss there.

"Zevran, get off," she ordered firmly, pushing against his chest until he relented. He moved off her and over to the side. She scrambled over the now muddy bank and felt a bit of red flush her cheeks as she took in all of the guards. They'd watched the whole thing. Some of them were staring at the ground, others were talking. One was whistling. Theron wasn't anywhere to be seen.

Zevran slowly got to his feet, shaking his head. "Everyone pack up and be ready to move out by the time I get dried off."

Every last one of them scattered, and she was amazed at the amount of power he, an elf, seemed to have over them. Zevran turned to her with renewed spirits, grabbing her shoulders and kissing her lips one more time. She squeaked, but the kiss was over before she could fight him off. "Best get moving before Alistair worries," he murmured, breath hot on her mouth. He stared into her eyes for a moment longer as if trying to confirm something. Nodding once, he crossed the stream to the other side.

Covered in mud, shaking with a tirade of emotions, and already feeling uncomfortable in the hot sun as mud began to dry on her robes, she shouted at his back, "If you think this changes anything, you are completely, utterly, and totally _wrong_!"

He had the audacity to laugh.

* * *

Alistair had been delayed, so their haste had been completely wasted. The trip in and of itself, Elda felt, had been wasted. Rinna had, of course, thrown herself straight into Elda's arms and sobbed with happiness that she had returned. Leliana had been teaching her to use a bow in her mother's absence, much to Elda's chagrin. But the trip had been exhausting, Elda had a lot on her mind, and she was immediately escorted to her old room before she could do anything to make the templars nervous.

After bathing both herself and Rinna in warm water and soothing oils, she had ordered a plate of food consisting of fresh fruit, dried meats, and doughy bread that would slake their hunger before bed time. They sat with blankets wrapped around their lithe, elven bodies next to the fire while Rinna picked up a type of fruit and chewed on it distractedly. Syn was cuddled up next to Elda's thigh, big head resting on her knee. A black book, silver writing scrawled across the cover, sat open in Elda's lap as she read the Antivan words to her daughter, caressing them with her tongue lovingly. Zevran had taught her a little of his native language, and over the years she had picked up quite a bit more while traveling. Every now and again, she hesitated over a foreign word, but Rinna would grab her hand and urge her to go on. The child didn't understand the story, but she liked the sound of the language.

The fire crackled in earnest, warming their bodies and lulling them into a sleepy daze of comfort that they both enjoyed after the snowy nights out in the cold. Not long after the baths, Rinna had enough of sitting opposite her mother and clambered into the elf's lap. Elda accepted the contact, moving so that she was holding the book with Rinna curled up next to her without even a pause in her reading. Rinna listened quietly, occasionally pressing small bits of meat into Syn's open mouth or pointing at the pictures with an exclamation of, "what's this?" or, "how pretty!".

It was maybe two hours later, fifty or sixty pages into the book, that Rinna fell asleep in Elda's arms and the mage herself leaned against the foot of the rocking chair next to the fire place and closed her eyes. She heard the door creak open softly, and she heard the soft footsteps of a certain assassin. Zevran gently took Rinna from her mother's arms and tucked her into bed. Elda kept her eyes closed, head back.

"Alistair has arrived," Zevran whispered, grasping her hands and pulling her to her feet. She nodded slowly, following him. Pausing at the door to pull on her blue house coat trimmed with wolf fur, they shut the door softly so as not to wake Rinna. Syn was careful to sneak out with them both.

There was a certain nostalgia to sneaking around a guarded castle in her bare feet and night gown. Sweet-smelling midnight air drifted through the windows, mixing with the oil from the various torches burning at every corner. Zevran kept her small hand in his, tanned skin contrasting with hers. It was warm and comfortable, and she couldn't find the energy to jerk away.

Alistair was waiting for them, hair wet from a quick bath, a tired smile on his face. He stood as they entered the room, eyes zeroing in on their clasped hands. "Sorry this has to happen now; I know you're both tired after your journey."

"I'd much rather this be over with, Alistair," she muttered as Zevran left her side to stand by Alistair.

"Yeah, me, too," he answered.

She inclined her head. "Then, please, tell me what this is all about. I think I've waited long enough, don't you?"

Alistair's eyes darted around, taking in Zevran's lazy form, the stiff guards in the throne room, and the various templars all standing at the ready. "Yeah..." he scratched his head, then perked up. "Want to go for a walk?"

Elda cocked a brow. "Walk?"

"Yeah, walk," he nodded, grabbing her arm. "Let's go for a walk through the courtyard. I'll fill you in." He lead her away with Syn following closely behind.

Outside the moon was shining like a galleon tossed upon the cloudy sky. Shadows cast the entire courtyard in darkness, the trees looming out threateningly. The moon flowers stretched out towards the moon, eager to drink in the meager light. Elda paused on the threshold of the cobblestone path, hesitant.

"What is it?" Alistair asked, confused.

"I'm not wearing any shoes," she said.

He smiled and held out a gloved hand. Waking up a bit more, she noticed that he was still in his armor, the golden trimmed metal glinting in the moonlight. There were a few blood splotches on the breastplate. She took his hand, fingers barely wrapping around his huge human fingers. "It's cobblestone. You'll be okay."

The stones pressed cool and slightly wet into the pads of her feet. Given a few moments of wriggling her toes at the new sensation, she took her hand back and wrapped the coat closer about her shoulders. "So tell me why I was kidnapped."

Alistair coughed. "Yes, well, we have a situation."

"That much I figured out from your letter," she said, beginning their slow walk.

"You know I wouldn't have brought you back by force if Zevran hadn't gone rogue. I wouldn't have contacted you at all unless I _needed _you. And I _do_." It sounded like an apology.

"Truthfully, Alistair? I had been longing for...for _home _for a while even before you—I mean, Zevran—kidnapped me," she admonished, not wanting him to feel too badly. "And Rinna needed to meet her father. Zevran needed to meet his daughter." Syn barked, licking the fingers swinging by her side. "And Syn missed you all an awful lot," she finished, smiling at the mabari.

The king smiled down at her. "I'm glad you're home, actually. We all are."

A pinkness spread across her neck. "Just tell me why you brought me here, please."

Syn launched himself forward a few feet, rounding a corner at breakneck speed. Elda assumed he must have seen a rabbit or some other animal. Alistair cleared his throat. "We brought you here because you're the most powerful person I've ever met. You're the only one who can stop her. Until recently, I thought that this could wait, that we could handle it ourselves at a later date when starvation or the rebuilding of Ferelden wasn't the first thing on our plate. But I was wrong. Elda, she's started to kidnap children now. Little ones, new born to two or three years old. Anora is hysterical about Duncan. The elves are accusing us of slavery again and kidnap. The human population is about to riot because of all the lost children."

Elda came to an abrupt stop, stepping out in front of him and placing her hands on his too broad chest. "Slow down, Alistair. Who is this woman? Why is she kidnapping children? What do you mean she's kidnapping them _now_? What was she doing before? Start at the beginning."

He sighed and sagged considerably. "It was about a year ago that we started getting reports of a bandit striking in the area around the Dalish camps in the Brecilian forest. Most of the Dalish shut us out, of course, and refused the help of my soldiers. We only found out about the attacks from a group of human travelers that were driven off by a mage in white robes around that area straight into the Dalish camp. The Dalish wanted to kill them, but Lanaya offered them hospitality. She told them stories about the mage, and they reported to us at her request."

"A _year _she's been taking children?" Elda demanded incredulously.

"No!" Alistair shook his head quickly. "No, they were just attacks at that point. She and a band of maybe three others were raiding caravans that passed through. Then, they started killing the people and leaving the stuff. The bodies were mangled beyond recognition. Sometimes there were no bodies at all, just blood trails and broken vials. I sent my templars to check things out because it was most definitely a mage leading them, but they never reported in, and the Dalish refused to let us search the woods.

"At that point, the attacks were happening more frequently. Then, she hit a Dalish camp. I don't know how she did it, but she wiped the entire camp out in one night. The mounts—er, halla, I think—were torn to shreds for their furs and horns, every elf, no matter how young or old, was slaughtered, and the tents were burned to the ground," he turned away from her and began pacing.

"But..._why_?" she asked, wondering why someone would do something so pointless.

"We don't know," he answered. "I sent the templars in to check things out, but there was nothing. No clues. She was there, and then she was gone. None of the other camps saw the fire, heard the screams, until morning. My templars and my soldiers combed the area looking for signs of some sort of headquarters, but we couldn't find anything. Nearly a month after that, she hit another camp."

Elda shook her head. "But why hit the Dalish camps? What was she after, supplies?"

"No," he said, "and that's what we found strange about the whole thing. The clan's supplies were burned like everything else. The halla horns and coats were gone, but what are they worth? Not much, according to Lanaya. She had the hunters searching, too. No trace."

"Definitely a mage," Elda said. "Using blood magic no doubt. There's no way she could possibly use a silencing spell, set fire to the camp, and kill all those people without help from a demon."

Alistair looked at her through the darkness. "That's what we thought, but she's not attacking the Dalish camps anymore. Three months ago, she started traveling, carving a bloody path of destruction through Ferelden to Denerim. We've received tips that she's camping somewhere on the outskirts. I have my soldiers circling the entire city, but we haven't found anything. Every few days, she's sneaking into homes and taking the children."

The elf let out a frustrated sound, fingers combing through her hair. "How could you have let this go on for so long? How could you go visit Eamon while this was happening, Alistair?"

He had the decency to look ashamed. "You needed time to adjust, and I didn't think you would help us."

She let out something that sounded like a shriek, stomping forward and grabbing a fistful of his undershirt. Pulling down, she made sure they were nose to nose. "Listen to me! I may be selfish, egotistical, a little insane with enough skeletons to fill this entire castle, but when my people, the _Dalish_, are in danger—I don't care what oaths you made to me; I will help you to the best of my ability."

He swallowed.

"Tell me what else you know," she demanded, letting him go. "I need to know the specifics. What does she look like, what kind of homes is she hitting, is she elven or human? That kind of thing. I've taken on a few bounties while traveling, and I've become rather good at tracking."

"So," he hesitated, "you'll help us?"

She was marching back inside, "I need a map! Someone get me a map of Denerim right now and some ink!" The soldiers snapped into attention, scattering about. She whipped around at the king's stagnant form. "Alistair! What are you doing? Come on!"

He tried not to smile.

* * *

Elda's petite shoulders were hunched over the map, sweat trickling over her brow from the sheer amount of candles used to light the room combined with the heat of the peppermint tea she ordered to keep her awake. A ribbon tied up her short, silver hair. Her house coat was tossed over the back of the chair where Zevran was toying with his knife. Alistair sat in a chair opposite her past paramour with Theron and another guard she didn't recognize at both sides. A vial of ink was sitting open next to the map. One of her fingers was dripping black.

"Okay," she murmured, pinky tucking a hair behind her ear. She slid the inky finger over an area off the market. Six consecutive x's shone metallic black all over the paper. "There doesn't seem to be any sort of pattern to this. Just...spontaneous." She slammed the palm of her hand on the table. "What else can you tell me about this mage?"

Zevran sighed. "None of us have seen her, but from the reports we gather that she's about twenty to twenty five years old, elven, dark red hair, and wears white robes. Her staff is definitely custom made, a solid white color. At the end is a circular ball filled with lyrium, five horn-like protrusions coming out of it."

"She's an elf who wears white robes, red hair? How do you not spot someone like that?" Elda asked Alistair.

Alistair balked. "She disappears! Every time we get close, she's gone. No one knows where she is, and we can't predict where she'll be. You said so yourself there's isn't any reason behind her actions!"

"No mage kidnaps children for the thrill of it," Elda pondered aloud. "She has to be using them for blood magic, but why use children? They're not as powerful as demons; their blood is too innocent to be used in corrupt spells. She must be trying to stir up the public against the king. The Dalish, too. Question is, why?"

"To overthrow the king?" Zevran guessed.

"But why?" she looked at him. "Has she been hired? Just for the fun of it? What does she have against Alistair? If we can understand her motivations, we can capture her."

"I find that speculation gets one nowhere. We should focus on finding her first, interrogate her later," he suggested.

She sighed, shooting him a glare. "Well, that would be all fine and good, but we don't know where she'll strike next. Without a pattern of actions to go on, we can't predict where she'll be to set a trap."

"There are other ways," Theron said suddenly from his corner. He leaned over the map with her, tracing a finger over the various marking she'd made. "Look, all of these markings are around Denerim's marketplace, next to Eamon's estate. For some reason, she's targeting that area. I say we reinforce that area, fill it to the brim with guards so that there's no way someone won't spot her, and wait for her to move."

"You want to wait for her to catch another child?" Elda demanded, leaning back and crossing her arms.

"Yes, but if the guards are all over that area, she won't get away. We'll catch her and the kid before she can run," Theron replied.

"No," Alistair said. "That's too risky. What if someone does miss her? She gets away with another innocent. Not to mention, she wiped out an entire Dalish camp. Two, in fact. What makes you think she couldn't overcome those guards? She's obviously a formidable target."

"Also," Zevran piped, "the markings are around the marketplace, but they are in no particular order. She might be expecting us to fill that area with guards so she may strike at another place with more ease."

Elda frowned at the map. There was a reason that the two of them brought her back, and that main reason was her magic. As a mage, she would be able to sense the use of magic. As a bloodmage, she would be able to sense another bloodmage like a beacon. She could find the woman, track her down, but the collar around her neck would need to come off. She curled her fingers around it and shot Zevran a pointed look.

"No," he said simply.

"There's no other way. What, are you frightened that I would run away? Attack you?" she stood up straight.

"Yes."

She smacked the table with her hand, sending the candles rocking. "My people are dying here, Zevran. _Children _are dying here. Alistair's son, my daughter, _your _daughter are both in danger. I won't let this continue. If you won't take it off, I'll go find her anyway. And without my magic, I will die. Do you understand me?"

Something flashed in his eyes, but she continued. "I need to be able to fight. Put aside your damned pride and give me that key before I really try to kill you."

Alistair leaned forward. "Zevran, take off the collar."

For the longest moment, it didn't seem like he would obey. Zevran's hand closed around the key, looking her up and down with a mask of contemplation. Fire felt warm on her flesh, the mixture of sweat and candle wax pungent in the air. Outside the moon was covered over by clouds, thick waves of cool night air circulating in the room. Even thought it was so hot, she still shivered as he regarded her. Then, he moved. Slow and meticulous, he took the key from his neck and stepped behind her. She didn't know if she imagined the brush of finger tips over the back of her neck. Feeling and hearing the click, she felt the contraption unhinge. Zevran reached up in front of her, pulling it off completely and stepping back.

Mana rushed back into her body, the magical edge to her features returning instantly. She didn't seem quite so mortal, a pale, ethereal complexion coming over her face. More spirit than mortal, more demon than elven, she seemed to glow in the moonlight. Elda laughed lightly, feeling the power come back. Without her magic, she was nothing. With it, she was complete. It was as though she had lost a limb, but it was suddenly reattached. Twitching her fingers, a light flame overtook her hand, burning low and blue. Ruby red fragments came to life in her eyes, adding a murderous glint to her inhuman features. The templar in the room took on a nervous air.

"All right," she muttered. "I'll need a dagger."

* * *

**We had a tragedy in the family, so I took a while on this. Next update should come much faster. I think. Review please.**


	16. Taboo

**Title: Snow and Ice**

**Rating: Mature**

**Warnings: Sexual content, minor language, violence, blood, use of alcohol**

**Summary: Once upon a time, a maleficar had stopped the blight. Afterwards, she'd left for the colder North, leaving love for a life of loneliness and wandering. No one was to look for her. So why was Alistair calling her back? Zev/Surana**

**Author's Note: Thank you for reading. Review please.**

* * *

_My past...is mine to keep,_

_Now who are you to question me?_

_-Our Battles, _Maria Mena

* * *

Chapter 16

Elda didn't like doing blood magic with Zevran watching her. It was an expectedly creepy feeling doing something taboo in front of a citizen who dubbed it such. Yet, he had been most supportive of this approach. He'd gathered the candles and helped lay out the pentagon in white sand. They'd moved up to the highest tower so as to be closer to the heavens and so more susceptible to magical influences. Alistair was pretending he wasn't aware, which was probably best for all. He'd been the most argumentative about the entire affair, but Elda had switched on the same persuasive charm she'd used during the Blight and gotten permission anyway. Children were being killed. Blood magic was being used to keep the killer concealed. One could only hope to win by fighting fire with fire.

It was nearly dawn, and a hundred men waited outside for the news of where the most concentrated energy source of magic was in Denerim. That would lead them straight to the blood mage, and hopefully it would end the matter completely. Elda doubted it would be so simple. When the mage felt Elda sending out her feelers, she would no doubt run before anyone could be caught. Though the official plan with Alistair was to find her and send in the troops, Elda and Zevran had a different plan. They wanted to lure her in with curiosity. The bandit had to be extremely powerful to kill so many so quickly and so silently. Elda was going to dangle a bit of her own power in front of the mage and see how she reacted. Hopefully, they could lure the fly into the spider's web.

"Hand me that dagger, Zev," she muttered, eyes closed. Perched in the middle of the circle with her eyes closed, legs crossed, nostalgia washed over her. There was a moment of uncertainty as Zevran's hand held the shining weapon out to her. What if Ikilai sensed the sudden power surge and came after her again? In the Fade, she was vulnerable to his influences. He could hurt her, try to take over her body. Zevran's brow creased, and her hand shot out to take the dagger. No, she couldn't back out. She had to stop the mage.

"I'm not going into the Fade," she said carefully. "I'm just going to try to touch her mana to find her location. It's more like a state of meditation, open to magical influences. If I don't come back quickly, disrupt the circle. Just move a bit of the sand."

"The demon..." he trailed off, concern flashing in his eyes.

"Won't bother me as long as I'm quick," she lied. There was a distinct possibility that the moment she began, Ikilai would drag her to the Fade. Balancing the tip on her palm, she closed her eyes. Fire jumped across the circle from one candle to another. She smiled, glad to have her magic back.

Without further theatrics, Elda glided the knife's point across her palm and felt the blood well up and over the edge. Pure energy exploded from the circle, a blinding crimson red light that enveloped the mage and wiped out the candle flames in an instant. Syn backed up into a corner, whining. The waves of power doused the fireplace, filling up the room like water and flowing out the window. Elda's eyes began to glow in her skull. Words that sounded like the hissing of a snake flowed from her lips, the chant fast and angry. She lashed at the words with her tongue, and suddenly everything became quiet.

The chanting stopped. Every last bit of energy bled away into the walls. Elda was left levitating a few inches off the sand, eyes open wide and still glowing. The entire thing happened in just a few moments, and Zevran shook his head. He would never understand the way of mages, blood or not. He sat on the bed, one boot propped against a wood en chest, and kept watch.

Elda, meanwhile, checked her boundaries. She was casting a glance over the entire city of Denerim. It was very much like regarding a map, the area dampened by a bluish light. There were no buildings, no taverns, no roads. Instead she could see people. Not people, really, but little points of bluish light that told her exactly where each mage was located. Red points of light told her where the blood mages were. It was old magic, taught to her by a demon in the Fade. For a price, of course. She had once wondered what Greagoir would trade to know the trick.

Inside her own head, she stopped at a point of interest. The bigger the dots were, the more powerful that particular person was. On the outskirts of the Pearl, near the sea, was their target. It had to be the bandit, Elda reasoned, because the point of energy was so great it extended for what seemed miles. She focused in on it. The bluish light faded as color and shapes came into view. As if she were standing right there on the edge of the camp site, everything was clear. A small fire burned in the middle. Three people stood guard. There were no tents, no supplies, no mounts. Probably easier to move in a hurry when they didn't have to pack up camp first.

Elda's eyes widened when she saw the mage. Sitting in the middle of the camp right next to the fire was the strangest-looking elf she'd ever seen. First there was a light that coalesced and shaped around her almost like an arcane shield but not quite. The light was a deep burgundy, the color of red wine. Also, her red hair tumbled in a wave down her back, curling lightly at the end. Two braids attached to the front of her head were tide back to keep it out of her eyes, securing the entire thing. Elda didn't recognize the style as Dalish, Antivan, Ferelden, or Orlesian.

Though that was strange, her robes were even more on the odd side. There were no sleeves, for one, or even a collar. A thick strap slipped over her neck, long and elegant, to hold up the front of the robe. Beneath that was some kind of slip. Elda reasoned that it was similar to cutting a giant hole in a sheet and fitting it over one's head. The fabric dipped from where it was fasted to her neck down so that the sleeves began nearly at her elbows. A purple insignia was printed on the front of the fabric. And the strange staff Zevran had described was right next to her, propped up against a fallen log.

Her features were odd as well. She was wiry, muscled, and thin like most elves, but she was too tall. Her nose was pointed, slightly crooked in the middle as if at one point it had been broken. Purple makeup was smeared around her eyes and lips. A single tattoo in the shape of a fang cut through one eyebrow, extending all the way down to her cheekbone. That was purple as well. With thin lips, small eyes, and no other extraordinary features, she was rather plain in looks.

Elda tried to creep in just a bit more, refusing to back out yet before she could get a closer look at the camp when the mage glanced up. She didn't _just _glance up, either. Her head shot up in a sudden state of awareness and looked straight into Elda's eyes. Elda wasn't physically there, so it was an amazing feat to be sure. The mage got to her feet quickly, shouting orders as Elda backtracked hastily. She'd been foolish thinking that the woman wouldn't sense her energy.

"Mushin, let's move!" she ordered.

A tall man in a corner stood straight. He looked confused. "But Alaeze, we're-"

"Now!" the elf roared, plucking her staff from the ground in a fury. Her hand cocked back and let fly a barrier of magical energy so powerful that Elda could taste it on her tongue.

Elda was thrown back into her own body with such a force that she skidded back, knocking the candles off their individual pedestals and scattering sand all over the floor. Zevran caught her before she could hit the wall.

"She's by the Pearl! To the east!" she gasped.

Zevran left her there, echoing order after order to the soldiers out the door. "Find her! You, soldier, tell the king where she is. I want every last man we have available converging on that point. Don't let her slip away again."

Elda didn't listen much. The clattering of metal shoes in the halls was nearly deafening. Soldier after soldier marched on to yell about the discovery, but they would be too late. At the last second, Alaeze had realized Elda's presence. She would flee before anyone could even assemble. Elda had failed to catch her by surprise. She'd been so fascinated by Alaeze's appearance and energy signature that she'd forgotten the plan. It would be her fault that the next child disappeared, and that thought weighed heavily on her mind. She wasn't a complete monster, after all.

"Miss, your hand is burning!" a familiar voice yelled. She blinked blearily and stared down at the appendage. Sure enough, the bubbling flesh was sporting a glowing blue flame. The nerves were damaged so severely that she hadn't even felt it. One could smell the charred skin. Elda quickly doused the fire with a breath of cold air.

Theron was at her side with a bucket of cold water and a few bandages. He gently grabbed her wrist and sunk it in the bucket. She scoffed. "Don't bother. It is not as if I can feel it at all."

He peered up at her curiously. "Is that why it your tattoos cut off at the middle of your hand?"

Having not given much thought about it, she supposed so. When her hand had been burned so badly, the skin had been literally destroyed. Only muscle tissue lay beneath. Using magic, she'd been able to create a new layer of skin, though she hadn't been able to replace the nerves. Similarly, she hadn't been able to recreate the tattoos either. Her healing magic wasn't like Wynne's. She wasn't restoring the old tissue but creating a pretty layer to hide the damage.

"Yes," she replied, turning her head away. Theron wasn't discouraged. He lifted her wrist and began drying off the skin.

"It doesn't matter if you can feel it. If it is ignored, you might get an infection," he explained, taking the bandages and gently wrapping them around her hands.

"I have magic at my command," she said, a small smile curving her full lips. "Why should I be afraid of a little infection?"

Elda dipped her other hand in the bucket of water and then let the water droplets fall onto the wick of a still burning candle. Theron shrugged. "I just think you should take care."

"How cute."

"Is it too tight?" he asked, finished.

"No idea," she wiggled her fingers at him.

"Oh," he flushed, "right."

Pressing the bandaged hand to his cheek, she grinned. "Don't let my worldly charms fool you; I'm actually quite an amateur when it comes to friendships."

In a moment of pure boldness, his fingers curled over her wrist and pulled it away to plant a kiss on her knuckles. Elda couldn't imagine it was very pleasant, what with the smell of burnt flesh and cotton bandages. "Just friends?" he asked innocently.

"Now what would the commander think, you trying to seduce not only the mother of his child but also his new target for doting affection?" Winking, she pressed her hands into his, and he helped her to her feet.

"Is that all he sees you as? A target? A beautiful woman like you deserves more than that," he argued firmly, steadying her when she swayed on her feet. Their faces were incredibly close as he drew her into his arms.

She backed away, reaching into her pocket to pull out a ribbon. Tying her hair back, she shot him an amused glance. "You're a bit young to be my lover. And I'm a bit too old to be having secret trysts in the middle of the night."

Theron glanced away. He was twisting his hands.

_Oh_, she thought, _he's nervous_.

How endearing. She wasn't used to that response.

"That wasn't quite what I had in mind," he murmured softly. "I was thinking more that we could take it slower. Get to know one another."

Carefully, she set her uninjured hand on his head. His hair was feathery between her fingers, light and soft. Almost nice. He was also much taller than her. The familiar scent of iron and sweat and _male _burned her nose. "Well," she smiled, "I appear to have all day while I'm at the castle. If you'd like to go for a walk tomorrow night, I'd much rather wander around the courtyard with a warm body than try to sleep."

His eyes widened, excitement on his face. Sometimes he seemed more like a child to her than a soldier. Other times, he was so suave she'd swear she was talking to Zevran. "But what about the commander?" he asked.

"Don't worry," she soothed, taking her hand back. "I'll deal with Zevran if I must. For now, this is just a friendly walk between two Dalish wanderers. One of whom was trapped in a tower for most of her life. I expect you to regale me with plenty of tales, yes?"

"Of course, Miss," he bowed.

"Good boy. Now, you have a job to do, I think," she reminded him.

He blinked, uncomprehending. As metal footsteps banged down the hallway, he suddenly straightened up and headed for the door. "Yeah..." was all he said as he exited the room.

Elda leaned against the bed post, exhausted and guilty. She tried to tell herself that it wasn't as if she were married to or even involved with Zevran and that _surely _he had tasted every woman in the entire castle while she was gone but...the feeling of betrayal didn't quite go away. The problem was that she liked Theron. He was younger than her but with kind eyes and a handsome smile. He was the sort of father that her daughter should have had, not a whorish assassin. But that wasn't what she had in mind. She didn't want to go on a walk with Theron to sleep with him. She found herself wanting, more than anything at that moment, a _friend_.

Leliana was lingering in the doorway. She hesitated on the threshold before coming in and standing directly in front of the elf, looming over her. Elda didn't even look up. Leliana took her small hands, mindful of the bandaged one though she didn't need to be. "You look so tired lately."

Intrusion was the word that came to mind. Leliana was a bard, and as such she always stuck her nose in other people's business. Elda withdrew her hands, glancing away. "I don't sleep much."

"You never did," the bard murmured, a kind smile on her lips. "You used to stand guard all night, singing to yourself and watching over us. I always waited for you to collapse from exhaustion but you never did."

Squaring her shoulders, Elda replied, "I'm small, but I'm resilient."

Leliana just laughed. "Yes, you are at that. Oh! I have a surprise for you. Well, Zevran actually wanted me to give it to you, but it's a surprise nevertheless. Now, close your eyes and no peeking."

Feeling rather like an immature child, the mage did as she was asked, eyes sliding closed with an exasperated sigh. She leaned against the bed post heavily and crossed her arms, listening. Leliana trotted to the other side of the room and out the door, feet clicking on the stone floor. When she came back, her steps were a bit louder. Elda realized that the object must be heavy.

She didn't feel the fingers on her hand, but she did feel the light tug on her arm. Leliana wrapped the elf's fingers around the base of something cylindrical and metal. "Okay, you can open now."

Elda didn't really need to open her eyes. She knew that weight anywhere, the worn handle, and the smell of lyrium smithing. Leliana watched as her eyes softened sentimentally when she took in the sight of her staff. As a traveler, she understood what it was like to actually own something. It hurt when that something was taken away. The mage gripped the staff with renewed vigor and muttered a soft 'thanks.'

Leliana smiled at her before her eyes grew dark. The bard glanced away, suddenly unhappy. "Why didn't you tell us? All that extra power you had...the knife you carried...the fact that you always had scars...I told Wynne that it was nothing to worry about. I told her you would never go that far."

"If I had told you, would you have followed me?" she sighed.

"Yes!" Leliana rounded on her, tears in her eyes. "We all would have followed you to the ends of the earth. When you saved me from Marjolaine and let me have a life again...when you reunited Alistair with his sister and you stole Morrigan's book from the tower! Those were all huge things that we trusted you with. Even Wynne and her apprentice! Why couldn't you have trusted us just a little bit? It hurts to think that you kept something so important from us—from me."

Blinking in surprise, Elda flinched at the tone of her voice. "I'm not—I'm not Marjolaine, Leliana. I didn't mean to betray you, but do you really think that Wynne would have allowed me to go unpunished? She spent her whole life testing the apprentices until exhaustion trying to find the blood mages. She can't help it; it's instinct. I needed her help, just like I needed yours and Alistair's. If I had told you...you might have left me."

"Did you tell Zevran?"

"No," Elda glanced away. "Not even him. Though I know now he wouldn't have cared at all."

Leliana sighed, letting her shoulders droop. "You kept it from Sten and Morrigan and Oghren as well?"

"Yes."

"To think that you would-" a hand came up to wipe at her eyes, "To think that you kept who you truly were from us, that you shouldered this secret by yourself is agony. You must have been so frightened for us to find out. So frightened of Wynne."

Elda swallowed and grabbed a broom. She began sweeping the sand up. "Not particularly frightened. I was more concerned about what you would think. There were a few times I wanted to tell you, especially when we were faced with killing Connor. I knew about the ritual before Jowan mentioned it."

"That's why you let Jowan go, isn't it?" Leliana said, finally meeting her eyes. "You felt sympathy for him."

"He was the one who taught me. I couldn't—despite the wrongness of what he had done, I couldn't condemn him to death for wanting freedom. They would have made him Tranquil, taken away everything. The blood magic was a means to an end, that end being freedom. Don't we all deserve that?" She was preaching, but she didn't care. I didn't matter what Leliana thought especially. Elda had burned Leliana more times than was good for the bard, but the fool stayed anyway.

"Freedom is an interesting concept," a lilting voice said from the doorway. Leliana whipped around in surprise, but Elda simply sagged against her broom. Of course he was there. Zevran was a master at cloaking his presence. Even with her magic, she hadn't been able to sense him.

"You have news already?" asked Leliana.

Zevran stepped into the room, eyeing the staff for a moment. "They won't be able to reach her. I assume she'll be gone by the time they get there, but we've drawn her attention. She knows that we're looking for her. And she will be intrigued by the Warden's power."

"Intrigued," Elda scoffed. "More annoyed than anything. I know I would be."

"What do you mean by that?" Leliana asked.

"Our energy signatures are fairly equal in size," the mage explained, twitching a finger. All of the candles were doused simultaneously. "I'd say that if we ever fought, we would be an equal match."

"Fairly equal," Zevran repeated.

"Mine is a bit larger," Elda admitted, "but she seems to know more about blood magic than I do. There was a shield surrounding her, a type that I've never seen before. I delved into the dark arts to survive. She seems to do it as a hobby."

Just then, a few bits of light stabbed through the window opening, splashing rose-colored sunshine on the floor. The heat touched Elda's bare feet, warming them slightly. Elda left the two of them standing there, walking to the window and peering outside. Swirling clouds on the horizon were tinged pink with the rising sun. Ferelden was just beginning to awaken, people dragging themselves out of bed. She stood there with an injured hand she couldn't feel, a migraine, fatigue, and the smell of blood and candle wax wafting around the room.

"Dawn," she murmured, closing her eyes as a cold wind tousled her hair softly.

* * *

**Apologies. I've been busy with my family. The next one will be more exciting, I promise. Thank you for reading, don't forget to tell me what you thought.**


	17. The Dragon's Egg

**Title: Snow and Ice**

**Rating: Mature**

**Warnings: Sexual content, minor language, violence, blood, use of alcohol**

**Summary: Once upon a time, a maleficar had stopped the blight. Afterwards, she'd left for the colder North, leaving love for a life of loneliness and wandering. No one was to look for her. So why was Alistair calling her back? Zev/Surana**

**Author's Note: Thank you for reading. Review please.**

* * *

_Where were my senses?_

_I left them all behind_

_Why did I turn away?_

_I wish I could say to you..._

_It's gonna be all right._

_-_Save you, _Kelly Clarkson_

* * *

Chapter 17

"Lift your hands a bit more, sweetie," Elda said to her daughter. The evening sun beat heavily on their backs, drying the sweat it called forth so quickly that the salt deposits were beginning to become uncomfortable. Just behind Elda, soldiers marched to the timbre of their commander's voice. Others attacked hanging dummies with wooden swords and axes. Grunts of exertion and pained gasps echoed across the yawning stretch of courtyard.

Using magic wasn't particularly draining physically, but the sun was taking care of that part. She could feel the burning imprint on the back of her neck, already turning red and aching. Rinna's flushed cheeks were probably red from more than just heat. Both of them were pale enough to get blisters if they stayed out too long.

Zevran sat idly in the shade by a tree, sharpening his blades with a whetstone. In all the time she'd been with him, Elda hadn't once thought that he was obsessive about the sharpness of his blades. With every strike of steel, sparks flying off, she knew she had been wrong. Hadn't he sharpened them every night at camp while keeping watch? How many nights had he sat outside her tent, rhythmically striking again and again just to annoy her? Hadn't he sharpened them on the way to the tower? Either way, she was learning something new about him. Something annoying.

She hadn't realized she was staring at him until Rinna put a hand on her face. "Mommy, are you mad at Zevran?"

Zevran inclined his head, but his movements didn't cease. He was listening.

Elda blinked. "Why do you say that?"

Rinna's pointer finger came up to smooth the crease in her mother's brow. "You keep frowning at him."

"I'm not mad at him."

Someone in the courtyard groaned loudly as his body collided with the ground, dust and dirt sticking to his sweaty skin. Elda took Rinna's hand and shot a glance over there, curious as to what was going on. The commander shouted for a break, and the soldiers dispersed with much relief, running to the well for water. One man, lithe and slim, whispered in a human man's ear for a few moments before jogging over to where the elven mages were practicing. Theron grinned in greeting.

"Theron, I didn't expect you to be training. You were up all night, yeah?" she noticed.

He ran a hand through his sweaty hair. "Well, it takes a lot more than a sleepless night to convince the commander that I can't train. Besides that, you were up all night, too."

She knew she looked awful. That morning after everyone had gone and they'd received the news that the mage had in fact escaped, she'd gone to the bathroom and locked herself in with a chair against the door, just staring at her reflection in the mirror. Then, she'd heated the bath water with her magic to scalding degrees and just sat in it before falling asleep. Only when a maid knocked tentatively on the door did she wake up. Her body was red from the burning water, broken arm sore still, head throbbing, the bite on her lip shining silver, hair a mess, and the bags beneath her eyes could have swallowed her face. The maid had applied a bit of powder, and she'd redressed all of her own wounds. Still, she was far from pretty. Quite literally, she felt as though she'd been chewed up and spit out by the Gods themselves.

"Yeah," she said, feeling Rinna's fingers curl around her own. "Theron have you met my daughter? This is Rinna."

Theron smiled down at her and shook the hand she offered. "Hello, Theron," she grinned crookedly at him.

"Rinna?" he repeated in wonder, kneeling down to be face to face with the girl. "What a beautiful name for a beautiful girl. It's Antivan, isn't it?"

Elda's brow furrowed. "How did you know?"

"I spent a few years as a merchant's slave after I left my clan. He was Antivan through and through, and he had a wife named Rinna. She was kind to me, and I always spoke to her after supper. The name was a bit like a family heirloom, I suppose," he said, standing up.

The mage tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. A slow, sleepy wind blew through the courtyard. It was a nice break from the heat even if it did last a few short moments. "Her name reminds me of a friend I used to have," Elda replied. "That's all."

Rinna pulled on Theron's hand. "Where did you get that earring?" she asked suddenly, eyes wide at the sight of it. Made of halla bone and adorned with a small bead, Elda reasoned that Rinna would never have seen such a thing. Elda had never taken Rinna to one of the Dalish camps, though she supposed she could have. The earrings were common for women who were about to get married. Men only wore them when the woman died.

"Hush, baby," Elda said, smiling apologetically at Theron.

"No, it's all right," he assured. "It was my sister's. She died a few weeks after she was married."

"Why do you have it?" Rinna asked.

"To remind me of her," he smiled and ruffled the child's hair.

A dagger was sheathed rather loudly behind them. Elda whipped around quite quickly. Theron glowered. "Warden, Alistair's body guards seem to need you," Zevran's accented voice murmured, throwing a thumb at a templar and a well-muscled young man waiting impatiently. "And Theron, I believe your commander is looking for you if you're finished here."

Theron glanced behind him and cursed softly at the look his commander was giving him. "Uh, I need to go." He jogged away.

Zevran's scoffed. "I don't know what you see in him, love. Did you hear him curse right in front of two ladies? Shameful." His eyes were teasing, though. Zevran had said things to her that would make a whore blush.

"Do you have to interrupt every time like a jealous child?" Elda snapped.

"Me?" he blinked. "Of course I won't deny that I am burning with jealously like a witch at the pyre, pardon the pun, but per the circumstance, I was the perfect gentleman." He stepped a bit closer, his spicy scent overwhelming her. "Now, if I were really acting like a spurned, jealous lover, I would probably have poked around and learned about your little rendezvous tonight."

"You son of a-" she started, but a look at Rinna, who was chasing after a butterfly away from them—she hadn't even felt her daughter let go of her hand—silenced her.

"Don't worry, dear," he bowed his head. "I won't interfere. I would suggest, however, that you leave our daughter out of your affairs. If that is all right with you?"

"What affair?" she demanded, shoving at his chest. "I'm taking a walk with him, Zevran. We're hardly sneaking off into the bushes without our clothes strewn across the ground."

"I should certainly hope not," he muttered, feeling his stomach twist unpleasantly at the idea. "But all the same, I'd like to remind you that I haven't given up on you. When this whole mage problem has been dealt with, we are going to tell Rinna that she has a father after all."

"That sounds reasonable."

"I'm glad you think so," he smiled. "I'll also be vying for your attention, and I have much more experience than that little Dalish child." He brushed a bit of hair out of her eyes.

Her eyes narrowed. "Zevran, it is hot enough out here without your body invading my personal space. You are going to make me pass out." Before he could reply, as she knew she'd just set herself up, Elda clamped a hand over his mouth. "Shut up."

With that, she stalked toward Rinna. "Honey, we've got to go talk to Alistair now."

Rinna frowned. "Do we have to? I don't like standing in that big room."

"I'm sorry, baby. We'll leave as soon as possible. It's just that there's no one to watch you, and Leliana is gone for today," Elda crouched and smoothed back her daughter's hair.

Zevran came to the rescue, padding up from behind the child. "Why don't you let me watch her? I'll take her back to our room. Completely safe."

Elda stood up and pulled Rinna against her side. Her daughter looked ecstatic about the idea, but Elda knew that Zevran was an assassin, not a babysitter. Of course Rinna would be safe with him, but...it seemed a bit like a surrender.

"Oh, can I stay with Zevran, Mommy? Please?"

Elda was struck again by the attachment Rinna seemed to show towards him. Being her father, was it some kind of blood bond? Or was Zevran really so charming as she'd thought when she was a naïve little tower mage? Either way, Rinna was waiting for her permission.

"I...guess so," she answered, realizing that there was no reason to say no.

Rinna's fingers uncurled from her hand one by one, almost as if in slow motion, before she threw her arms around her father's waist. "Will you read me a story, please?"

The maleficar walked away, snatching her staff off the ground before meeting the guards.

* * *

She bowed her head politely so as to avoid the disapproving tutting of Wynne who eyed her with distrust. "Alistair," she acknowledged.

Alistair nodded before standing up. "We just found a letter while my men were scouting the woods. We found a scarf from one of the stolen children, evidence of a fire, but nothing major. This, however, was pinned to a tree with a knife. It's addressed to you."

Curious, she approached the dais and took the note. It was scribbled in blood, a fact that nearly made her roll her eyes.

_Maleficarum Surana:_

_The dragon suffers most when-_

The rest was torn off.

"What the hell does this mean?" she demanded. "Where's the rest of it?"

"We aren't sure. That was all we found. It doesn't have an significant meaning to you?" Alistair asked, a bit hopeful.

"Why would it? Clearly the note's been torn in half. There must be more," she said, flipping it over and studying the backside. It was regular parchment, nothing extraordinary about it. There were burns on each corner, as if charred in a fire. Soft and pliant in her hands, clearly it was an old piece of paper. Maybe torn from a book. The scrawling letters were done by an uneducated hand in a hurry. Clearly the mage had written it herself.

"'The dragon suffers most when' what? Is it from a book? An old saying?" she pondered aloud. A ball of flame licked up her fingertips, and she held it close to the parchment. "I don't see anything that can be revealed with heat or magic. Clearly she wanted me to see this. I don't understand."

"We had the soldiers searching the area for any hint of parchment, but they couldn't find the other half. This must be it. What I'm curious about is how she knows your name," Alistair said.

Elda met his eyes. "There's dark magic out there that even I don't know about. She could have learned it a number of ways."

"But why send a letter? Maybe it's a warning?"

The mage froze. "A warning of what? When _does _a dragon suffer most?"

"When it's throat is torn open?" Alistair guessed unhelpfully.

Elda growled and cocked back her arm, throwing a small fireball to the ground with force. It singed the stone, but left little other damage. "I'm so _sick _of all this goddamned speculation! I just..." she trailed off, looking into Alistair's frightened eyes. "I just need to be alone for a minute. I need to be away from all of you and _think._"

She shoved the note in her pocket, hands coming up to grab a few fistfuls of her hair. She shook her head back and forth when she reached the kitchen, and then she clambered out the door and into the blood-red sunshine. The sun was nearly below the horizon at that point

Life had been simple once. She and Rinna traveled the country side, staying away from villages and tribes that would attract too much attention. They hadn't lived well, but they had lived. Survived was really a better term. Ever since coming back it felt as though someone had thrown her straight into the fire. Ikilai was on her trail, a mage was sending cryptic notes, and both Zevran and Theron were trying her patience. She was surrounded by templars who shot her dirty looks after every corner she rounded, Greagoir knew she was a maleficar as did half of the castle, and Wynne no longer trusted her. Alistair was too busy being a good Andrastian to stop and realize that the only way to kill a blood mage was to fight fire with fire. And she looked as though she'd been thrown to the wolves.

She paused suddenly, recognizing her path. It was the one she'd walk on with Alistair just a night before. Had it really only been twenty-four hours? She hugged herself. Creators, it seemed like so much longer. As she glanced toward the sky, she realized that another child was probably being abducted.

"Boo!" someone jumped out of the bushes. Elda started, then relaxed.

"Theron, what are you doing?"

He was shirtless, which was surprising because the temperature had plummeted drastically. Rather than thick muscles and defined abs, he was slim and wiry. His skin was much paler in the poor light, a pair of cotton pants hung about his hips. That hair stuck up in every direction. He looked as if he'd just crawled out of bed.

"Saw you creeping around down here. I was sneaking down to the kitchen for something to eat," he said, holding a bit of ruby fruit for reference. He took a crisp bite, the sound ringing in the silence. "Besides," he spoke through the fruit, "you owe me a walk." Theron looked at her for a long time. "You all right?"

"I'm always all right," she said more to herself than him. Theron sank his teeth into the apple again. He wrinkled his nose, then stretched out his hand.

"How about we walk, and you can tell me all about it?" His offer was genuine, voice soft. She hesitated, but placed her fingers in the palm of his hand. It was comforting, warm. He laced his fingers with hers and started forward.

Elda felt suddenly as though she were fifteen years old. Coy and nervous and shy all over again, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and stared at the moon. The feeling of butterflies was absolutely ridiculous. Theron was so much younger than her, a child in the ways of the world. And she wasn't a blushing teenager. She was a grown woman with a daughter. A bit more confidence back, she cleared her throat.

Theron beat her to the punch, commenting on the weather. "Looks like it'll rain tonight, huh?"

The sky was most definitely not clear. "It might just do that."

"So why don't you tell me what's bugging you?" he said, that apple crunching again.

She smiled at him tenderly. In the dark, he couldn't quite see. "What makes you think anything's bugging me?"

"Well," he chomped, "for one, you're not surrounded by your usual entourage. And two, you look a mess, darling. I take it the intel King Alistair had for you wasn't pleasant?"

"Smart boy."

"I have my moments, I'll give you that."

She sighed, wincing a bit when he moved his hand. He was holding her splinted arm. After he muttered a quick 'sorry' she glanced toward him.

"I just feel as if everything's falling apart. Once upon a time, things were so simple. Now everyone is after my blood."

"If it makes you feel better, it's not the blood _I'm _after," he teased.

"You hopeless flirt," but she smiled.

"Not entirely hopeless, I should think," he muttered, tossing the apple in the bushes. She paused, careful to relent when pulled so as not to strain her arm. He stopped, too, glancing back at her.

"You remind me of someone," she whispered, slinking closer. Her cold fingers touched the pendant around his neck. The touch on bare skin made him shiver, and he wet his lips nervously.

"It's not who I think it is, is it?" he said.

"You've never met this man," she assured, hand coming up to touch his face. The rugged, unshaven hairs brushed her skin. "You share a lot with him, though."

"Oh?" he asked, intrigued. "What exactly do I share?"

"Well, you're hopeful for one," she began. "Handsome, charming, and I feel like if I kiss you right now, you'll break my heart into a million pieces."

Theron's hands came up to gently hold her wrists, backing her up into the stony wall of the castle. She didn't make any sound while walking backwards, a soft exhale of breath when her back hit the wall. She'd told Zevran that it was just a simple walk. Suddenly, it seemed to mean a lot more.

"I might just do that," he whispered, breath hot on her mouth.

"Which, kiss me or break my heart?"

"Both," he whispered.

"Do you promise?"

And he kissed her. Fire burned in her blood. He took hold of her face and crashed his lips against hers. Spiced cider from the kitchen and the apple flavored the kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck; he pressed closer to her, bare chest flush against her breasts. A tongued darted out against her lips, breath hot in her mouth. She heard him moan, felt the vibrations in her chest and buried her fingers in his hair.

That's when it started to rain. The downpour was so sudden that she didn't notice it at first. A soft drizzling began, and sooner than she could gasp as he fully invaded her mouth, both of them were drenched. His fingers were on her neck, the water making friction between them nearly impossible.

"Lady Surana!"

They ripped apart like two batteries repelling one another. Theron was panting, running a hand through his hair, dripping like a god in the rain. She swiped the hair out of her eyes. The guard was short, young, and slightly overweight. His face was flushed, eyes wide. He looked embarrassed.

"What is it?" she demanded after shooting Theron a petrified glance.

He sputtered, then seemed to regain his attitude. "Lady Surana, it's your daughter-"

Elda stalked forward, grabbing him by the front of his shirt. "What? What about her? Where is she?"

"She's gone! She's not in her room! There's a-" but she was already running. Elda shoved him out of the way and flew into the castle. She nearly slipped on the stone floor, tracking in mud and water, but she regained her balance and began the nearly impossible trek up to her room. Her only thought was that she had to get there as fast as she could because guards could miss her daughter, but Elda could find Rinna anywhere, anytime. The backs of her calves burned ferociously, crying out at the treatment. She wasn't aware that Theron ran behind her, calling her name. She pounded up the steps, slowing little. After all, adrenaline could do wonders.

Rinna was a _child_, and the blood mage was targeting children. What if...what if the blood mage had taken Rinna? What if she'd meant something more with that note. Just when did the dragon suffer most? When it lost its child? She tried to quell the horrible thoughts that kept rushing into her brain. Rinna was careless sometimes. Maybe she had wondered into a different room. The castle was huge, after all. But she knew that wasn't right. Because her mother instincts were telling her that something was _wrong. _Something was so dreadfully _wrong_. Just like when Rinna was younger and had trouble with her lungs, or when she'd gotten stuck in an icy cave, or when she'd wandered off on her own. Elda was familiar with this sense of dread and panic, and she hated herself for knowing, knowing that her child was _gone._

Reaching the top, Theron had to pause for breath, but Elda ran on. She slipped around corners and paid no attention to the hair hanging in her face. She tried to focus, tried to calm down but it was as impossible as stopping a birth when it was time for the baby to come.

She skidded to a stop at her door and ran into the room. Zevran was there, looking remorseful and outraged at the same time. There were three other guards, but they were all faded to black. She couldn't see the pretty draperies or the books or the gently crackling fire that seemed out of place in the chaos stirring in her mind. Nothing was out of place or overturned like a regular kidnapping scene. The blankets on the bed were pulled back as if Rinna had simply gotten out of bed in the middle of the night. They were thrown back, but the child wasn't there. Instead, a doll with a knife in its forehead sat there. Pinned by the knife was the note in completion.

_Maleficarum Surana:_

_The dragon suffers most when its egg has been stolen._

Elda felt as though the whole of Ferelden had fallen out from beneath her feet. The breath rushed out of her, legs going weak, mind going blank. She'd been right. Rinna was gone, in the hands of a blood mage. She thought she might actually pass out.

Steady arms caught her. A pained gaze of golden honey met hers, and she exploded.

"I trusted you with her!" she screamed, shoving away from him. "I trusted you to keep her safe, and she's gone!"

"Elda! Calm down," Zevran said, grabbing her fists before she could hit him. "I put her to bed a few minutes ago. Someone slipped in while I was busy with Alistair. When I came back up she was gone."

How could he be so calm? His daughter was gone.

"YOU SON OF A BITCH! SHE'S MY DAUGHTER. DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT? SHE'S MY WHOLE WORLD, AND SHE WAS UNDER _YOUR_ SUPERVISION WHEN SHE DISAPPEARED! YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE HER FATHER!" Elda cried, beating on his chest.

He clenched his teeth. "I'll get her back!" She was sobbing hysterically now, sagging against him. He grabbed her chin and forced it upwards. "I'll get her back, do you hear me? I vow to you that I will get her back."

"I-I..." she leaned her forehead against his chest, and they both fell to their knees. "I..I don't t-think I can t-take this...I don't thi-think I can t-take it..."

"Everyone get out," Zevran ordered. They dispersed, but Theron hesitated. "Now!" he barked. The guard left with sagging shoulders.

"Shhh," he hushed her, rubbing her back. He lifted her head so that he could meet her eyes. "We'll get her back. I won't let them keep her. Do you understand? She will be okay. Everything will be all right."

Zevran buried his face in her hair and felt a stinging pain in his eyes.

Elda collapsed against him and cried her eyes out.

* * *

** I read a sig that said, WHEN I TYPE IN CAPS DO I SCREAM IN YOUR HEAD? I was typing this up, and I realized that I couldn't quite express how loud she was being. I hate using all caps, but...what the hell can you do? The next one should come faster as the plot picks up because I have it outlined in my head. Thank you for reading. Review please.**


	18. Getting It Together

**Title: Snow and Ice**

**Rating: Mature**

**Warnings: Sexual content, minor language, violence, blood, use of alcohol**

**Summary: Once upon a time, a maleficar had stopped the blight. Afterwards, she'd left for the colder North, leaving love for a life of loneliness and wandering. No one was to look for her. So why was Alistair calling her back? Zev/Surana**

**Author's Note: Thank you for reading. Review please.**

* * *

_Then the darkness surrounds me_

_I know I'm alive, but I feel like I've died._

_-Beauty from Pain, _Superchick

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Chapter 18

"I'm not hungry Zevran," she growled, wiping the sweat from her brow. The candles made the room hot despite the cooler wind blowing in from the window. It had been three days since Rinna was kidnapped, and Elda was looking quite the mess. Stringy locks of hair fell around her face which was covered in blood and grime—the blood had come from a mouthy soldier she'd felt necessary to execute—and she was even more pale than usual. The darkness beneath her eyes told the tale of sleepless nights. She was shaking from lack of food and the effort to stand.

He grabbed her bony wrist and twisted so that she spun around. Up close, the elf was even more sickly. Clasping her hands around a green apple, he stared imploringly into her eyes. "I know you are worried, but starving yourself does nothing for our daughter, my dear. Eat something."

She glanced down at the apple and felt her stomach roll. "I can't."

"You can," he pressed, holding her hands even tighter. "If you don't, you are going to collapse. Then what use will you be, hmm? Alistair has every man he owns searching Ferelden as though the queen herself was lost. Staring at that map so hard does nothing but harm your beautiful eyes."

"I can't," she repeated, laying her forehead against his leather armored chest. "I'll just be sick again. What use is it?" Tears pricked her eyes again and she angrily blinked them away. Three days of crying was quite enough.

Zevran sighed softly into her hair and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. The apple fell from her weak fingers and rolled onto the ground. "Oh, Creators, Zevran. What am I going to _do _if she dies? How will I _live_?" Her nails dug into his back.

"Painfully, I'd imagine," he whispered, stroking her hair. "Oh, come now, where is the strong, stubborn woman that ran from me for six years? The Hero of Ferelden must be buried somewhere beneath all of this filth." He pulled back and stared into her eyes.

Elda glanced away, hands trailing down over his shoulders to rest on his chest. "I never wanted kids," she whispered. "I was actually going to disappear for just a little while, long enough for her to be born, and then leave her with the Dalish or throw her to the wolves. I didn't _want _her, and above all, I didn't deserve her." She met his eyes, a hand coming up to touch his cheek, stroking the designs there. "But when she was born, and I looked at her...Creators, Zevran, I wish you could have been there. She was just so _beautiful_ and so small. I fell in love. In that moment, I realized that I was too selfish to give her a better life. Because she was a part of me and you. A part of us.

"She changed my whole world," she whispered. "Just like you did. I think that's why I love her so much. I think that's why I named her Rinna because I knew that eventually I would come back to you."

Zevran sighed and smiled. "It doesn't count until you are healthy again," he said, forcing her to turn around and swinging her into his arms. Elda buried her face into her hands, tears leaking over her stained cheeks, and shook her head.

"She's my whole _world_," she growled angrily. "How could I have been so stupid?"

"You aren't stupid," he said softly. "Mother or no, everyone deserves to have a little romance in their lives. How were you to know?" She knew he was taking her to their old room. Bones aching and wounded, dirty and charred, she didn't think she'd be able to sleep without a bath.

"She sent me a _note_, you fool."

"_Half _of a note. The way I see it, the fault is completely hers. How dare she put so little effort into warning you," he joked, gently opening their door. To her great surprise, he didn't navigate toward the bed. He went straight into the bathroom and set her on her feet.

Elda swayed on her feet. "What are you doing?" she asked when he began gently undressing her. She was too tired to stop him and let her hands hang at her sides.

"Bathing you, of course," he replied as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. Elda threw a glance behind her, catching the smell of warm soap and water. The tub was already full. Had he planned...?

"I have a plan," he started, removing her robes so that she was left standing in her underclothes and tossing the black cloak aside as if it had offended him. "Whether you realize it or not, you look truly awful, Warden. You have more injuries than a dead man; you haven't slept in six days—and yes, I know that you never sleep until you have to—and you've lost a lot of weight. You're starving yourself, and frankly, I found you much more desirable when there was meat on this skinny frame."

When she was completely naked, he averted his eyes like a gentleman and picked her up, careful not to be too rough, and set her in the hot water. She hissed at the contact, perhaps it was a bit too hot, before sinking down. Zevran carefully unwound the splint around her arm and the bandages on her hand. He kneeled in front of the stony bathtub and picked up a bucket of water, dumping the entire thing on her head.

She sputtered, "I feel like a child."

"Ah, does this mean I am allowed to spank you for your bad behavior, then?" he winked.

"Zevran, you said you had a plan?" she implored, relaxing a bit when he began to massage her oily scalp with soap.

"Yes, the plan is to nurse you back to functionality before we really throw ourselves into the flames. You are our key just as you were six years ago, and we need you. Rinna needs you," Zevran explained.

"She might not have that long!" Elda argued, fingers tightening on the edge of the tub. The assassin gripped her scalp and pulled her closer.

"Then you should relax and let me help you, yes?" he said seriously.

Finished with soaping her hair, Zevran reached over and dumped another bucket of water over her head. Despite himself, he couldn't help but let his gaze wander over her slick collar bone, elegant neck, and dripping face. Even sickly, she was stunning.

He'd been watching her break down for days, feeling that though they were wasting time, she deserved it. A mother would do anything for her child. On the third day, when her eyes were so heavy she could barely keep them open, Zevran had asked the maid to prepare a few things. What he'd said was true. There was no way he could kill a mage by himself, let alone a bloodmage. If they were to rescue Rinna, he would have to nurse Elda back to health.

"Wash yourself and let me know when you're done," he ordered, gesturing to the bar of soap and sponge.

"Where are you going?" she demanded suspiciously.

"To fetch something hot for you to eat," he bowed, disappearing behind the door.

Soap bubbles floated on the water, falling in thick fat drops from her hair. Elda sighed and drug her fingers across her skin. She didn't want to eat. She didn't want to do anything. Well, there was one thing. She wanted to curl into a ball and let the helplessness of the situation begin eating at her like a terminal disease. She wanted to throw herself off the nearest tower and welcome death because it so often called her name, and she was so sick of fighting. To have lost Rinna...it meant she had failed. Failed at being a mother, being a creature worthy of life.

Buzzing in her ear was the voice of Zevran in the other room as he spoke with a maid. Elda covered her ears and sank beneath the water, wanting to disappear. She shouldn't have gone on that walk with Theron. What the hell had she been thinking? Theron was a child, no one she would ever be seriously interested in. Caught up in the moment, though, she'd wanted a taste of something different. And that taste had cost her something so dear to her heart that if Rinna was returned soon, she was certain it would shatter into a million pieces.

Sitting in the water, warmth wafting up to caress her face and dampen her flesh even more, she was feeling the sleep deprivation in a brand new way. Normally, when she was running on no sleep at all, she stayed away from warm baths, food, and blankets. Anything comfortable could make her collapse. That was one of the reasons she'd chosen to go to the colder part of Ferelden. There, she had an affinity for ice and she could stay awake much longer because of the harsh conditions.

Her vision began to swim, but she didn't have the energy to climb from the tub even though passing out could mean drowning. She just slumped against the gray stones, feeling the round shapes press into her back.

"Zev," she mumbled into the water just before sinking below the surface. A pair of arms dove in after her and pulled her up by the shoulders.

"Maker, woman, could you at least strive for life?" Zevran growled, standing her up and draping a towel across her lithe back.

"_You _left _me._"

"Dead on your feet and you must still have the last word," he sighed, picking her up again when she refused to walk. "_Que será la muerte de mí_."

"I don't know what you're saying," she breathed against his neck, trying desperately to keep her eyes open. Her vision was blurring.

"_Yo sé_," he chuckled. _I know_. She understood that one.

She went limp like a ragdoll as he set her on the bed. He grabbed her hands and pulled her forward. "Get dressed first, and then you may go to sleep." Something soft and delicate was pressed into her hands. Someone helped her stand; she couldn't see. Judging by the gentleness and the fact that nobody else was in the room, probably Zevran.

"You're not going to make me eat?" she grumbled, trying to balance while putting on the underclothes he gave her.

"I was going to," he said, "but you might fall asleep in the soup." A warm hand brushed the hair out of her face and stayed on her forehead. "_Si tu está infermo, tenemos problemas._" _If you are sick, we have problems._

"I'm not sick," she said, eyes closed.

"I knew you remembered a bit of what I taught you," he winked, helping to slide the nightgown over her head and straighten it across her hips. When his hands lingered there, she forced open her eyes. He was staring straight at her.

"Zevran, why are you so nice to me?" she demanded, fingers languidly coming up to tangle in his hair. "I treat you horribly. I'm a horrible person."

His eyes softened, and he leaned in to kiss her. The kiss wasn't passionate or sinful or even forceful like Theron's had been. It was soft, a light peck on the mouth, and she shivered from it.

"_Es porque yo te quiero._" _Because I love you._

* * *

**Thanks for reading. Review please.**


	19. Encounter

********

**Title: Snow and Ice**

**Rating: Mature**

**Warnings: Sexual content, minor language, violence, blood, use of alcohol**

**Summary: Once upon a time, a maleficar had stopped the blight. Afterwards, she'd left for the colder North, leaving love for a life of loneliness and wandering. No one was to look for her. So why was Alistair calling her back? Zev/Surana**

**Author's Note: Thank you for reading. Review please. Also, thanks to Kismet76 and Servatia for helping me with Zevran's Italian.**

* * *

****

As predicted the moment she slipped into unconsciousness, Elda was pulled into the Fade. Instead of the usual arena full of nasty enemies that had her fighting until dawn—which never seemed to come—she was standing in what looked to be a clearing. She was lying on the ground as though knocked out. Shifting to an upright position, she glanced around. Everything in the Fade always looked the same. Same endless islands, same green, dream-like tinge to everything, same feeling of pain and sorrow.

"I was wondering how long it would take for you to _finally _go to sleep," a little voice called. "I understand, however. We bloodmages suffer so."

Recognizing the voice at once, Elda shot to her feet, hand flying to her staff that always seemed to go with her to the Fade. To the right, standing on the precipice of a twisting hill was Alaeze. She had an ethereal glow in the Fade that made her look slightly more appealing. That shield no longer surrounded her, but she bled with uncontrolled power. Elda couldn't help but let the word 'amateur' come to mind. Alaeze was powerful, but she was unstable. That made her more dangerous, but it also made her slightly weaker.

Alaeze spread her arms. "Oh, come now, sister. Must we try to kill each other like animals? Can we not converse as civilized beings?"

Elda closed her eyes and smiled softly to herself.

Being asked to speak peacefully with the woman who had kidnapped her daughter...would the ridiculousness never end?

Breathing deeply, she could feel the suppressed presences all around them. The demons were waiting, watching, hoping that one of them would kill the other. A dead bloodmage was a bloodmage to torture and feed upon. The chance to finally destroy the creatures that mocked them and stole their power in exchange for bits of blood, worthless lives. Alaeze was alone, though, and that was what she wanted to know. The demons held no sympathies toward her. In fact, their hatred toward the both of them was so palpable, Elda could taste it.

The tattooed elf glanced up at her opponent who was waiting patiently. She was an arrogant little thing, shoulders back and relaxed. Young, too. In that moment, Elda realized that she had never despised anyone so much. The feeling of disgust ran so deep, Elda thought she might just kill her then and there. Of course, the mage wouldn't be dead for good. She'd just wake up. But it would make Elda feel so much better. Still, she clenched her fist and pulled the staff from its leather casing, allowing the bottom to smack the ethereal ground. She could control her temper. She had to if she wanted any kind of information.

"Fine," she hissed at last, letting go of her staff. It stood straight up on its own. Elda spread her arms, taking a few steps away from it in a clear sign of peace. "Talk, then, if that is what you want."

"It is," she nodded firmly, leaping from the twisted hilltop. Her feet barely made a sound when she landed. "I am surprised at you. A mother's first instinct is to protect its young. Yet you desire peace? Intriguing."

"I desire no such thing from you," Elda bit out. "When this night is over, I will find you in the real world, and I will cut you into so many pieces that the Maker himself will not be able to find them all."

Alaeze smirked, shooting her an amused glance. "Threats are charming, but pointless. Though I suppose your anger is appropriate for the situation."

Elda ignored that, finding that her anger was _very _appropriate to the situation, and the mage's nonchalance was beginning to grate on her already frayed nerves. "Tell me something," she began, taking a few steps closer to her staff so as not to put herself out of range.

"Certainly."

"I understand kidnapping children for blood magic, though I've never done so myself, but why did you burn the Dalish camps? Why kill people of your own kind?" she demanded, crossing her arms, letting a curtain of hair fall over half her face.

The mage laughed lightly. "That is the very first problem with you outsiders. You have love only for yourselves. My 'kind' has done nothing to aid me in any way, and they make the mistake of being easy targets. I burned their pathetic camps to gain your king's attention."

"For what purpose? What does Alistair have to do with anything?"

Glancing to the side, Alaeze let out a huff of breath. "Straight to it, then? Fine. Your dear Alistair has nothing to do with this."

Elda's brow furrowed. "If he has nothing to do with this, whatever 'this' is, then why did you want to gain his attention?"

"The king, as useless as he is, had something I wanted. So, to gain his attention I burned those two camps to the ground and butchered a few bodies in the woods. I knew he was sympathetic to the elves' cause. I knew he would pay particular attention if the murders were elven. Especially because of the tensions between his kind and ours," she threw an amused glance Elda's way. "Especially because of his fondness for you."

Elda felt her mouth curl unpleasantly up in the corner, a sudden question coming to her lips. "Is that why you stole the children, too? Because Alistiar is a father, and he would be sympathetic?" The thought disgusted her. That the mage would go so far as to murder children, creatures who had not yet even experienced life, just to coerce a bit of information out of someone...it was monstrous. It made her sick to her stomach just thinking about it. She could be cruel, she could be merciless, but she was suddenly comforted by the fact that there were worse creatures in the world.

Alaeze wasn't bothered by the accusation, though. She shrugged. "Perhaps that was why my masters allowed it, but that is not the reason. I am a bloodmage, and I need blood." She flashed a razor smile, but Elda wasn't paying attention. 'Masters' implied that she was working for someone. Alaeze wasn't the one in charge, and that made her seem more like an inconvenience than an actual threat. There was someone pulling the strings, and in a strange way, that was comforting.

Regarding her with something like forced patience, Elda chewed on her bottom lip. The fact that Alaeze wasn't in charge was more than comforting. It was soothing, reassuring, because no matter how much Elda tried to tell herself that she wasn't frightened of the mageling, her brain would not process it as truth. Alaeze _was _frightening. She'd been able to butcher people and steal children for the last year. She'd been able to sneak into the castle, past the very best Antivan assassin and a horde of guards, to steal a child trained to scream and sleep lightly without a sound. She'd been able to sense Elda's curious prodding and cloaked magic, been able to throw her violently back into her own body. She'd been able to call Elda into the Fade despite her influence over demons and the protective charms imbedded in her very skin.

A rude noise, something between a snort of amusement and an annoyed huff of breath, startled her out of her quiet thinking. Alaeze apparently didn't like to be annoyed. She strutted forward, hips swaying, arms crossed, nose thrust toward the sky. "My masters put me through rigorous training in preparation for finding you. I was kept awake at night, screaming from the agony they put me through. Training night and day for weeks and months, so exhausted that I could no longer think, no longer speak. I was told of your great triumph over the mindless darkspawn plaguing Ferelden. I learned you like a book: your birthday, that unfortunate day in the tower with the templar, who your lovers were, that you had a child. The woman I was expecting was supposed to be of great power. A fallen goddess, they said." She shot a disgusted glance at Elda.

"But look at you," she sneered, circling her elder like a bird of prey, feet making no noise. "Injured, broken, exhausted. You have eternal beauty, eternal youth, yes. But you pay the same price all bloodmages do. You're disgustingly sentimental about that drooling pest you call a child, and Zevran...present, past, future lover. I care not. I laughed myself hoarse watching him cradle you like a child as you cried yourself into a fury when you found that bed empty." She paused, craning her neck over Elda's right shoulder, hissing in her ear. "You are as mortal as I." Fingers closed around a lock of Elda's hair. "More so, I think."

It all happened so fast then. Elda twisted quickly, elbow coming up with stunning speed to collide harshly with the mage's face. Alaeze grunted, hesitated, and then fell back with a howl of pain. She stumbled over the uneven ground of the Fade but didn't quite lose her balance. Meanwhile, Elda didn't wait to see how the mageling reacted. She leaped toward her staff, curling her fingers over the cool handle, reassuring and solid. Arms seized her about the neck, though, a split second before she turned around. Why Alaeze wasn't using magic was something Elda would have to debate later. Instinctively, she swung her head back and heard a sickening snap as the weight and momentum of her skull broke her opponent's nose. Screeching in agony, Alaeze's fingers came up to clutch at her wound as blood came pouring out in rivulets. Elda swung her staff above her head and struck another blow to the girl, watching as she stumbled uncertainly before falling.

Unfortunately, the weight didn't knock her out. She collapsed into a puddle, blood trickling out from between her fingers, whimpering. Pain wasn't a common thing for mages to experience because they were mostly ranged fighters. Whatever training Alaeze claimed she had, long nights of suffering to build up a tolerance, was either false or completely pointless if she could be crippled by a single broken bone.

Elda sniffed and straightened, running one hand through her hair. "So it is me. Your objective is me. That was the information you wanted out of Alistair. My location."

A rush of heated air burst forth behind her. She whipped around, staff at the ready, only to have it plucked from her grasp while surprise stunned her. Alaeze was standing there inspecting her nails, blood vanished, boredom creasing her features unpleasantly. Elda threw a glance behind her. There was nothing there.

"Actually, I didn't want to trek across a frozen wasteland just to get to you. I figured if I caused enough of a stir and stayed hidden long enough, the king of incompetence would call for you," she grinned, baring her teeth. "I was right."

"Neat trick," Elda spat, eyeing her staff.

"Yes," Alaeze confirmed. "But you sound upset. What's the matter? Want to learn?" She was mocking her, baiting her.

Elda took a few steps to the right. "Don't be smug. I said it was a neat trick. I didn't say I couldn't do better." She stretched out her arm, elegant fingers wrapping slowly around what appeared to be nothing but air. They curled into place, and Alaeze began to see what was going on. The staff in her hand exploded into sand, granules pouring through her fingers at a steady pace. The dragon bone magical instrument was back in its owner's hands. Unlike Alaeze, Elda didn't smirk. Her gaze was level, mouth set in a firm line.

"Who are your masters? And what do they want with me?"

"Now, that would be telling," Alaeze sang, dusting off her hands.

Fire erupted between Elda's fingers. "You are beginning to grate on my nerves."

"Short fuse. However did you manage to raise a daughter all by your lonesome? Why wasn't Daddy elf there to help out?" she laughed, clear enjoying herself.

Elda cast a glance around. She was finished with this exchange. Knowing that Alaeze's masters were the ones in charge, and that she was actually the target, helped quite a bit. She needed to wake up, to exit the Fade. Alaeze was infuriating. If necessary, Elda would force a confrontation to leave the Fade. There was just no way she could prattle away with the girl for the next seven or eight hours that she slept. Fighting demons would be preferable.

As if she could read her mind, Alaeze whined, "Finished with our meeting so soon? But we were just becoming friends."

"You're here to kill me," Elda said suddenly. It wasn't a question.

"Actually, I was contracted to kill you over a year and a half ago."

"And you're playing with your food."

"Charming metaphor. I don't plan on eating you once you are dead, however," Alaeze grimaced, as though the prospect of eating someone disgusted her even though she'd butchered children.

Elda shook her head. "I think we are finished here. Obviously, you can't kill me in the Fade. At least, not while I'm asleep."

"That is true. And I suppose you won't be entering the Fade of your own volition again, hmm?" the mage mused, tapping a finger against her mouth. She grinned. "I have no intention of killing you yet. Do you know why my masters gave me this job?"

"I'm certain that I don't."

Alaeze's eyes became dark, violently so. She narrowed her gaze and stared straight at her target. "Because I am the cat, and you are the mouse. I am infamous for breaking my victims before I kill them. I can't kill you here, no, but I can haunt your waking and sleeping hours equally. My masters don't want me to kill you. They want me to _destroy _you."

Elda rose up her staff and, putting all her force behind it, jabbed it into the ghostly ground. As it would in regular dirt and soil, the staff sank. Acting as though it were a lever, Elda clasped the hilt with both hands and yanked it sideways. An ear-splitting crack rose up in the Fade, resounding in the verdant sky. Alaeze stumbled backwards, eyes wide. Elda twisted the staff again, a gaping chasm erupting out of the ground. Cracking earth and tumbling rock filled the cold silence that drove most mages mad, bits and pieces of ground falling into the endless sky. The chasm stretched like a snake, splitting the island in half. The half that Elda stood on was roughly the size of Denerim marketplace. Pulling her staff back as the islands began to separate, Elda blew a bit of hair out of her face.

"W-what have you done?" demanded Alaeze as she got to her feet, awe clearly in her voice though she tried to hide it. "Manipulating the Fade! Are you insane?"

"According to the templars all over Ferelden," Elda replied casually, patting imaginary dust on her shoulder.

Alaeze let out something like a shriek. "What did you gain by doing such a thing? Separating us by a few feet? I could jump that distance!"

"The important part is that I can jump that distance."

Alaeze was hit in the chest with a fire ball so powerful that she was thrown off her feet, smacking hard against a gnarled tree. Her head ricocheted backwards, cracking against the bark with a horrible sound. It lolled to the side. Elda lay her staff down and leaped across the chasm, rushing to the still-breathing assassin. She grabbed Alaeze's neck and pulled forward, fingers delving beneath the collar of her strange clothing and pulling down. There, on the back of her neck, was a black tattoo.

"A Crow?" she hissed, running her cool thumb over the black bird. Alaeze gave a soft moan, head whipping up. After plucking a dagger from around the assassin's ankle, Elda pulled back, fixing her black hood around her face—amazing that Zevran had dressed her in a robe with a hood—and jumped over the gorge.

She grabbed her staff, stood up, and raised the dagger. Plunging it down into her palm, she spat a spell and everything around her was sucked into a vortex of spinning color. Alaeze shrank, swirling into nothingness despite the garish purple of her clothing. Elda blinked, and when she opened her eyes, all the pain of her mortal body set in. She was no longer a powerful mage in her own element, but a battered woman with a missing child and an emaciated body. When she sat up with a start, staring at her hand frantically though she knew that injuries sustained in the Fade didn't cross over into reality, Zevran was at her side, brow furrowed. She flexed her hand once, twice, to make sure it was in working order. The palm was as numb as before.

"Alaeze is a Crow," she told him, wiping the sweat from her brow. "Your Crows have come back."

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Between a new semester, recurring problems with my family, and keeping up with every day life, I am having trouble updating. I apologize. Thank you for reading. Review please.


	20. Tattoo

**Title: Snow and Ice**

**Rating: Mature**

**Warnings: Sexual content, minor language, violence, blood, use of alcohol**

**Summary: Once upon a time, a maleficar had stopped the blight. Afterwards, she'd left for the colder North, leaving love for a life of loneliness and wandering. No one was to look for her. So why was Alistair calling her back? Zev/Surana**

**Author's Note: Thank you for reading. Review please.**

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_You're still a part of everything I do_

_You're on my heart just like a tattoo_

_Just like a tattoo_

_I'll always have you._

_-Tattoo,_ Jordin Sparks

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Chapter 20

"Impossible," Leliana hissed, kicking off from the wall and standing at the edge of the bed. "Zevran killed the guild masters while you were gone. All of them. He is the highest master there is. How could they possibly send assassins after the wife of their conqueror?"

Elda choked on her apple cider. "I am not his wife," she said hotly.

Zevran ignored her, kneading his brow with his fingers. "In my absence, they might have formed new guilds. I can't run the Crows from Ferelden, obviously, and they have replaced me. This all makes sense, really," he glanced at Elda. "You are the target that got away, and the Crows do not like to be defied. I can attest to that."

Leliana shook her head. "I still do not believe it. She had a tattoo of a crow, but does that mean she is one? Elda has tattoos as well. And Alaeze is elven. All the elves I have ever seen have markings of some kind."

"It was not a tattoo, it was a brand," Elda argued. She sat up and grabbed Zevran's sleeve. He gave a heavy sigh and allowed her to roll up his shirt sleeve. There, at the juncture where his collarbone connected to his shoulder, was the same mark. Dark black, it twisted like a shadow in the flickering fireplace, faded against his tan skin. "I've seen it on Zevran, and I recognized it for what it was."

"Those bought as slaves are branded by their masters with this mark," Zevran admitted, pulling down his sleeve. "If Alaeze wore the same mark, it is as Elda says. She is being hunted by the Crows once more."

"So..." Alistair began, "so, she killed all those children just to get me to find you? And I brought you right to her. I'm so sorry."

"No," Elda held up a hand. "If you hadn't brought me here, she would have just continued stealing children. Maybe she would have done something worse."

"_I _brought you here," Zevran smirked at her.

"What could be worse than stealing and murdering children?" Leliana grimaced, shaking her head.

"Butchering them and then returning them to their parents' doorstep?" Zevran offered, lowering himself onto the bed beside the mage.

"Maker!" the bard cried, appalled. Elda shoved him away, nearly toppling the bowl of soup she'd hardly touched. It wasn't a very hard shove, though, as she knew he was kidding, and instead of falling off, he put an arm around her shoulders. The heat of him seeped through her thin clothes, and she was suddenly aware of just how little she was wearing.

Then she scoffed at herself. This was hardly the time to have an affair.

"So what is our next move? You must have a plan," Alistair looked imploringly at Elda. In his eyes shone the hope that she did have a plan and that he didn't have to come up with one by himself. For a moment, Elda considered Alaeze's words in the Fade. Maybe he wasn't the best man for the job after all...but then, what had she had to choose between?

"Obviously, I am going after my daughter. And in the process of retrieving what is mine, Alaeze is going to die. Then, the problem will be solved," Elda replied simply. Zevran let out a sort of dark chuckle with his head turned away, and she had to admit that it sounded easier than it would be. No matter, she would kill anyone, sacrifice anything so that Rinna could live. Nothing could hold her back.

Alistair rubbed the back of his head. "So you'll be leaving then? Where? And when? We don't even know where she is."

Absently, she touched the faintly luminescent blue of Ikilai's marking. "I have friends who can find her." Her voice was strong, confident enough that Alistair didn't argue. Truthfully, though, she didn't relish bringing Ikilai back. Whatever sort of sick affection he felt for her or her power was dangerous, and he'd been leaving her alone as of late. Summoning him could remind him of something he had forgotten. Still, it was her only choice.

"But when?" Leliana voiced.

Zevran looked at Elda. "Five days."

"Five days? Have you lost your mind? She'll be dead by then. Tomorrow," she said firmly.

"You can barely stand now," he argued, pulling back from her. "Four days."

"One day."

"Three."

"Two."

Zevran growled low in his throat, muttering in his own language. "Fine. Two days, but you do not get out of this bed until then. And you eat whatever I tell you to." As if to emphasize that, he shoved the bowl of soup into her hands.

Leliana stepped closer to the bed. "I'm coming with you."

As though he'd been waiting for them to begin making plans, Syn woke up from his place on the end of Elda's bed and jumped down with a bark. His tail wagged happily.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Leliana," Elda said. "You could get hurt. We might not come back."

Leliana laughed. It was a tinkling, bright sound. Too bright for a discussion about battle plans in the middle of the night. "I followed you during the Blight all over Ferelden, back and forth wherever you wanted to go. Don't worry about me. Besides, you will need all the help you can get. Alaeze doesn't sound like an amateur assassin."

"Ah," Zevran waved his hand in dismissal. "She has defeated the most skilled assassin of all. What could this one possibly do?"

"I suppose that would be you?" Elda raised an eyebrow at him.

"Naturally."

Alistair stood up. "I'm coming, too."

"No," Elda said adamantly this time. "I can accept Leliana, but not you. You're the king, Alistair. You can't possibly come. You have to stay and be here for your people. Zevran, Leliana, and I can handle it."

Zevran threw his legs over the bed, searching the plate of food the maid had brought earlier. "And speaking of handling it, if we are to leave in two days, you need to be eating now instead of discussing this." He turned around with a roll of bread.

Leliana smiled. "I'll begin packing and securing a few horses for us." Whether she was subtly giving them some privacy for Zevran to fuss or she really needed to begin preparations, Elda didn't know. The moment she opened her mouth, crusted bread was shoved promptly into it. Alistair walked toward the door, and Syn gave his hand a slobbery taste.

"You're not leaving, too?" Elda demanded of Alistair after removing the offending pastry from her mouth.

He chuckled. "I am the king, remember? I've got kingly duties to get to."

"Least of all his wanton wife, I'm sure," Zevran muttered under his breath.

Alistair flushed crimson. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that. Anyway! Let me know if you need anything for the trip. And, uh-" he glanced around as if embarrassed, "be careful if you're going to do what I think you're going to do in order to find her."

"Use blood magic, you mean," Zevran grinned, indicating the staff and dagger on the bottom of their huge, twin bed.

Alistair plugged his ears in a most childish manner. "Shut up! I don't want to know. Just, just be careful, okay? Wynne's not to too thrilled about the whole thing, and I don't want anything to get in the way of you finding Rinna. I also don't want anything to get in the way of you and Zevran taking off for a few days."

"Elda is a screamer," the elf admitted slyly. "Been putting your skills to shame, have I?"

"Maker, I can't believe I put up with you all these years," Alistair exclaimed angrily. With another glance at Elda, he stormed out of the room and down the hall, armor making enough noise that she could track him around the corner and beyond.

"That was crude," Elda told Zevran as he pushed the silver platter of food aside after gathering enough fruits and vegetables to feed an army.

The assassin laughed. "True."

"And I don't scream," she added.

"No," he pursed his lips as if that bothered him. "You are amazingly quiet. However, Anora does scream. Loudly."

Elda had covered her ears even before he was finished. "I do not need to hear that!"

"All right, all right," he chuckled, handing her a pear as she dryly swallowed the last bit of roll. Instead of taking it, she pushed it away. He glanced imploringly at her.

"You've been feeding me all morning! Soup, broth, vegetables, bread, fruits, and that pasty mush Wynne made for me. I'm finished," she snapped, yanking back the blankets and throwing her legs over the side. "I know you're worried about me. I've been in worse condition, though, trust me. And I've fought tougher opponents." When her feet hit solid ground, though, vertigo washed over her and she fell back onto the bed.

"Perhaps you should take a nap," Zevran suggested, trying not to smile at her surprised expression. It was a look of utter astonishment, practically comical on her usually serious face.

Her nose crinkled as she regarded the bed. Rest was not something she was used to, and she could sense that her body was starting to crave it. If she went back to bed, then Alaeze could no doubt pull her back into the Fade for another 'chat.' What she really needed was mental rest rather than just physical rest. She hadn't had that kind of luxury for a very long time.

"Fine, but you have to leave," she answered softly, thinking to herself.

"Don't worry," he said. "I'll leave straight away as long as you get into that bed and rest. We're leaving in two days, remember? Even the strongest of us get tired."

With a sigh, she lifted herself up and slipped her legs beneath the soft blankets, laying back on the plush pillow. Her hair fanned out around her sharp, bony face. She closed her blood red eyes and folded her hands across her stomach. "Good enough for you?" she demanded.

"Good enough," he whispered just next to her ear, and warm lips pressed against her forehead. Her eyes flew open, and he was walking away, shutting the door behind him. Once again, Elda was reminded about how much he had changed. Gone was the jovial assassin and trickster. He'd really grown up, and she was sad that she had missed it.

Elda lay back with a huff of warm breath. What was she to do? Her belly was distended with various food and drink. She felt lazy for once in her life, bones like some sort of pliable jelly. Though her body was in a state of constant healing rehabilitation, her mind swarmed with worry for her daughter. Was she already too late? Had Rinna been killed? Were they treating her all right? What did Alaeze want with her daughter? Was it really just a simple way to get Elda to pay more attention or were Alaeze's intentions more sinister than that? Surely an assassin of the Crows would not keep a little elven mage around for long...

She groaned and turned on her side. Thinking about it brought an undeniable pain to her chest, almost like a shortness of breath. There was nothing she could do. Leaving without Zevran would be a foolish mistake. She had learned long ago not to rush headlong into battles she couldn't handle. Besides that, she wanted him there. He would not leave for two days. Two whole days...

Clenching her fist brought the undeniable lack of feeling back to the forefront of her mind. She held it up in front of her face. Her skin was still young, still just as elastic and vibrant as the day it had been when she was just twenty years old. Deals with demons could be used for more practical applications as well. Forever would she have youth and beauty on the outside. Her vanity had cost her though. She ran a fingertip across the back of her deadened nerves, glaring at the empty spot where a circle dragon tattoo had once spat vicious flames at her.

Then she suddenly had an idea. Throwing a glance at the door, she carefully eased out of bed in case Zevran had not been entirely truthful about leaving her alone. After a moment of checking that she could stand on her own, she crept to the end and gently opened the cedar chest, pulling out clothing until she saw her glass vials and needles resting in the bottom. She pulled them out, fingering each bottle before setting it down and running a hand along the smooth, hollow tip of her needles. Zevran had gone to Antiva for two weeks after the battle with the Archdemon. He had gone to kill all of the guild masters and brought her back quite a few gifts from his homeland. The needles, soaps and perfumes, a beautiful green dress that she wore to Alistair and Anora's official wedding, and a few other odds and ends scattered about her room.

The door opened when she glanced at the closet where her dress was no doubt still hanging. Zevran frowned down at her, arms crossed. "I could hear you moving around in here."

"You are so overbearing. I'm not doing anything particularly dangerous," she replied, hugging her needle kit to herself.

"Tattoos? You must be joking. In your condition, while our daughter is in the hands of a murderer, you would risk poisoning yourself for a little body art?" he raised an eyebrow, more astonishment than anger in his voice.

"Do not lecture me about responsibilities, Zevran Arainai. I know very well the score," she spat. "You, however, seem to have forgotten how important blood writing is to the Dalish."

He sighed and took a few steps toward her, kneeling down to hold up a glass vial. "And you found some sort of milestone in your life that you wish to record _right now _while lying in that bed?"

She held up her hand. He glanced at it, confusion written all over his tan face. "When I summoned Ikilai and he kissed me that firs time, I burned myself. Badly. The damage was so severe that I thought I had lost my hand. I managed, with time, to restore the tissue so that it no longer looks mangled and burned, but I've lost all feeling. The tissue wasn't healed, as I'm not a healer like Wynne, but replaced by something else. So, my tattoo is gone. The dragon that symbolized my defeat of the archdemon."

"You wish to replace it, then?" he murmured, taking her hand and gently massaging her fingers. She wished, in that moment, that she could feel him.

"No, I want to put something else there. To symbolize Rinna's disappearance or my journey home," she replied, swallowing thickly. "I haven't decided. But I missed my ink. You know how much I love my needles."

"I remember," he whispered, hand coming up to touch the back of her neck and massage there as well. She felt herself melting under his careful touch. "You can't feel anything in this hand?" He raised it up and kissed the knuckles, hot breath lingering there.

"Nothing," she breathed.

He left the back of her neck and went to trace the outline of a vine across her face, lightest of brushes making her shiver. "Perhaps I should do it, then," he said thoughtfully.

"If you want to," she smiled. "My hands are a bit unsteady nowadays."

"Yes," he agreed. "You're trembling now."

She was. "I know."

"Cold?" he teased, rubbing her shoulder now.

"Burning actually," she whispered, leaning in and sealing their lips in a fiery kiss. It was the first one that she had started, that she had owned, and he reveled in it, yanking her close to him. Theron couldn't compare, couldn't even compete in the same league and she opened her mouth to feel his hot breath and warm tongue tracing the shape of her plump lips, hands holding her hard enough to leave bruises but soft enough that it wouldn't. She linked her arms around his neck and pressed closer to him, wanting his mark on her skin more than any tattoo in the world.

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**Hurray! Another chapter. did I mention this was supposed to be 3-5 chapters long? I fail. Next one should be up faster. Review please.**


	21. Love Hurts

**Title: Snow and Ice**

**Rating: Mature**

**Warnings: Sexual content, minor language, violence, blood, use of alcohol**

**Summary: Once upon a time, a maleficar had stopped the blight. Afterwards, she'd left for the colder North, leaving love for a life of loneliness and wandering. No one was to look for her. So why was Alistair calling her back? Zev/Surana**

**Author's Note: Thank you for reading. Review please.**

* * *

Chapter 21

"Does it count now?" she whispered against his mouth, eyes lidded. Zevran smiled, hand sliding down to the small of her back and remaining there.

"If you so swear that your little romance with my subordinate is over with," he breathed, "then it counts."

She was still perched on his lap, the heat of him through her clothes nearly driving her crazy. Zevran was making no move, however, to intensify the connection. He had been the one to pull away with his hand on the back of her neck to make sure she behaved. He had been the one to slow her racing heart and the intensity of their kisses to a lazy, more comfortable pace.

"I so swear," she replied, hands skimming over his shoulders before she pressed her cheek into his leather-covered chest. Once more she could breathe in the musky, Antivan scent of him. So foreign and yet so familiar. The scent he never lost even when he stayed in Ferelden. A warm hand touched her hair and held her close. Then, his fingers were beneath her chin and lifting her face upwards to stare straight into her eyes.

"Welcome home," he whispered and slanted his mouth over hers, drawing her so close that her breasts were crushed against him, her legs practically wrapped around his waist. He lapped at her mouth greedily, nibbling her bottom lip while his hands roamed across her back. Elda moaned into the kiss and dug her fingernails into his wiry muscles, begging, asking, pleading for more. And Zevran would give it to her. He would give her anything in the world because he _loved _her and that made it all the more exciting.

She was being picked up, then, and she gave a little yelp of surprise when they left the ground. Zevran hadn't even broken the kiss so skilled he was. But then, she remembered, he was as good a whore as he was an assassin. That thought also brought an important question to mind that she simply had to ask if they were headed where she thought they were headed. She pulled back and swallowed thickly.

"Zev, you've got to tell me something first," she whispered, forcing him to pause before he could lay her on the bed. Instead of ducking his head, as he had to know what question she was going to ask, he grinned and continued to set her down, climbing atop her slender body.

"None," he assured her, hands on either side of her head sinking into the plush pillows. He looked marginally proud of himself for the accomplishment, too, and that made the corner of her mouth twitch up. Obviously, he was telling the truth. For as good of a liar as he was, Zevran had never lied to her. "Leliana set me up one night with a darling little servant, and she cried herself silly with disappointment."

"Surely you're joking," Elda frowned. Zevran nuzzled the slope of her neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses there.

"Not at all," he murmured, the vibration along her throat a pleasant sensation. His deft hands worked eagerly on the buttons of her robes, pushing them off her shoulders and open across her hips, displaying her small, lithe body to him and only him. She had been lying when she'd said there had been others. He had known that. He always knew. No one had touched her since, and she would keep it that way. She belonged to him, and deep in her heart she had always known that.

He touched her with the reverence of a priest with Andraste's diary, kissing down her neck and over the swell of her breasts down to her flat stomach and pointed ribs. Warmth spread across her sides as he gently massaged her flesh. All the while, she was reaching and tracing, touching the outlines of his tattoos—outlines that she could trace in complete darkness, that she could draw on a blank canvas perfectly—and kissing his face, his neck, his shoulders. She worked on the buckles of his armor and threw away the leather chest plate so that she could explore the rest of him.

Zevran, unlike herself, had aged in the six year time skip, yet he had not changed much physically. He was still in top shape, strong muscles wrapped around steely bones like winding ivy. The familiar ring of a dagger being scraped across a table startled her out of her reverie. Then, the cool tip was pressed to her chest. She sent a confused look toward Zevran before she realized what he was doing, and he did it too fast for her to stop him. The ripping of fabric rang throughout the room.

"Did you have to do that?" she smacked his shoulder, feeling much like the temperamental wife. He chuckled and kissed her cheek.

"Yes," was his simple reply before he removed the bindings completely and suckled at her breast. She arched, feeling her heart pick up it's pace and her blood race through her veins. After that there was very little talking as Zevran became much more serious and Elda could not regain her breath enough to whisper more than a few words at a time. Calloused fingers roamed her body, pulling her close so that she could feel him hard and demanding against her milky thighs. He kissed at her throat and nuzzled her breasts, tongue pressing on each nipple and suckling until they stood pink and erect. Hot pleasure shot down to her groin, and she tugged on his clothes insistently, but Zevran was nothing if not patient.

He ignored her pleas and worked downwards, slowly removing her silken panties to toss them nonchalantly on the floor. Tongue dipping into her navel, his fingers danced across her thighs, avoiding her sex on purpose she thought. He sat up and yanked on her thighs, pulling her across the bed with a startled yelp. A few pillows fell to the ground with a thump as he tucked her knees behind his head and his tongue delved inside of her.

She whimpered, which required more control than she thought she could have ever mustered when she wanted so badly to scream. But screaming would attract somebody, an ignorant Alistair or a curious guard, so she clamped her fingers over her mouth and kept quiet. His tongue stretched her moist folds and sent wave after wave of coursing pleasure through her body, so much so that she began to taste blood as she bit into her hand. And finally orgasm washed over her and she did moan, lying limp beneath his ministrations.

Zevran kissed her then, tasting blood as she tasted herself. The flavor was intoxicating, and his tongue dove deep in her mouth, battling with hers as she panted for breath. Pulling back and wiping a smear of red from his mouth he positioned himself at her entrance and touched her cheek.

"It has been...a long time," he considered aloud, thinking of her.

"For us...both, remember?" she panted, smiling slightly. Without a moment of warning, he slid into her and froze, trying not to groan and to be still as her warm, velvet walls closed around him. Maker, it was as if she were a virgin. He leaned over her, broad chest dwarfing her small frame and kissed her cheeks, her forehead, her lips, her neck.

Quicker than he would have thought, she requested that he move, reminding him that his size was not that hard to get used to considering she had given birth to something the size of a watermelon. Laughing breathlessly at her joke, he began to move and picked up a rhythm fast enough. Soon, she was thrust along with him, nerves she had thought dead firing as though they had just been in use yesterday. She moaned and clawed at his back, urging him to move both faster and harder while trying to taste every last inch of him. She had forgotten just how good sex, let alone sex with Zevran, really was.

She tensed and felt her second orgasm wash over her, reaching up and kissing him with every last bit of love she still possessed in her world-beaten body, legs wrapping around his waist to pull him in deeper. Zevran came quickly afterward, a low groan buried against her naked chest. Staying there for a while, they both seemed content to just let their hearts slow down, their mingling breath return to normal. Zevran was the first to move. The next kiss was sweet and chaste, just a gentle tasting of lips and he smiled at her.

"I would really hate to ruin the moon with an 'I told you so'..." he trailed off, thumb caressing her cheek, still inside of her. She did not unwind her legs from his waist, however, and he was in no mood to move anytime soon either.

"So don't," she breathed, breath still shallow. "I love you," she murmured, fingers plunging through his blonde hair and feeling the slightly sweaty strands like silk against her hands.

"As I love you," he answered, pulling at her thigh so that she would release him. With a huff of breath, she unwound her legs and allowed him to slide out of her. She was a bit sore, she realized in awe, remembering the familiar sting of the loss of one's virginity. Propping herself up on her elbows, she glanced down just before Zevran's hot, heavy arm was thrown about her waist like a rope. Yanked against his chest, a soft blanket was thrown across her sweaty, naked body, and he was breathing in the scent of their sex and the subtle aroma of her skin.

However much like old times it felt, this was not old times. They had a daughter together, and they had been split up for a long time. Sex between them was no longer casual, and for her sex meant a lasting relationship. "As content as I am to cuddle with you, Zev," she said, fingers tracing the triangle patterns of his wrist, "we should probably talk."

"So talk, my dear," he whispered lazily, tongue lavishing the outer shell of her pointed ear. "I am all ears, as the saying goes."

"_We _need to talk," she repeated adamantly.

"About what?" he demanded, fingers trailing through her hair.

"About..." she faltered. "About _what_? About our future. What to...do now. What do you mean, what about?"

He sighed and pulled on her shoulder so that she was facing him, staring straight into her beautiful eyes. "You feel like we should talk because if we did not know each other like the backs of our hands, that would be the responsible thing to do. And you are nothing if not responsible. "

"So you're saying we don't need to talk? About anything?" she frowned.

"All right, all right," he grumbled. "Since you have thoroughly ruined the mood, I will talk and _you_"-he touched her nose- "will listen." She opened her mouth but he clamped a palm over it.

"You left because you thought you would be imprisoning me with a child," he started.

"How did you-" but he cut her off.

"Shhh, the adult is talking. You left because you did not want to impede on my freedom. Having lived in the tower, you knew how precious being free was to me more than anyone else. But you made a mistake. I was never unhappy or imprisoned when I was with you. I wanted to be free from the Crows more than anything at first, yes, but later it was because I wanted to be with you. I stayed because I wanted to stay."

The words were so true, and so sincere—something she hadn't heard in someone's voice in such a long time—that she felt her heart swelling and tears flood her eyes. He couldn't see them in the dim light. "Zev, I-" her voice was breaking.

"I found out from Leliana. She helped me to ponder your disappearance. Of course, she had not told me that you were pregnant, which would have been nice to know, considering. I could have gone after you. Gotten back some of our lost time-" but she kissed him, and he could taste her tears.

"Zev, I am so _sorry_," she whispered, burying her head against his chest. She sobbed bitter, long-suppressed tears.

"Hey, now," he smiled sadly, holding her close. "What's done is done, yes? Such is life. We can not make up lost time, but we can begin again, can we not?"

"I would like that," she looked up at him. "And I think that, once we rescue Rinna, she would like that as well."

"Hmm, maybe she would like a brother or a sister even more?" he pondered aloud, and she felt his fingers trail up her thigh.

The thought both frightened and excited her. She had never wanted children, it was true, but having Rinna had changed her mind for the better. Having more children with Zevran...a boy with rich yellow curls or another sweet girl...it brought a smile to her face and a flicker of hope in her chest. She threw her leg over his waist and straddled him. Zevran held her forearms.

"All right, but you can carry this one," and she leaned in to kiss him.

…

It was later in the still of the night that they came. Later, she would wonder how she did not hear them coming and, more importantly, how Zevran did not hear them coming. The two of them had been making love all day, once dipping into the bathtub and eating lunch before curling up into bed and falling asleep. They were tangled together in a naked, lovesick mess beneath the lush, kingly covers. The interlopers grabbed Elda first and yanked her from Zevran's loving embrace.

She cried out and grabbed for the bed, feeling chainmail gloves digging into the soft flesh of her upper arm. Someone else grabbed her leg and yanked so that she fell from the bed and smacked her head on the hard floor. Seeing stars, she snarled as the person clutched her shoulders and lifted her up, the bone of their armored arm pressing against her windpipe. She struggled at first, but the pressure was taking her breath away. It all happened so fast, and yet Zevran was there, leaping out of bed with a knife drawn and slicing the man's upper arm so deeply that white bone shone through.

He bellowed a curse and stumbled back while she slumped to the ground. Shaking her head once, she made a leap for the knife beneath the bed, but there was someone else in the room and thick fingers closed around her ankle, jerking her away from the knife just in time. The clashing of swords overhead told her that Zevran was engaging someone in combat. She twisted as her captor finally had her out from underneath the bed and kicked him square in the face. He was stunned, blood dribbling out of his nose, but his grip did not loosen.

The man reached down and held onto her arms fast, pulling her to her feet. She twisted and kneed at him, slamming her forehead against his nose again and again, but he slapped her across the face and then a distinct click had her frozen in fear. The familiar cold of the iron collar around her neck had her head spinning.

"That is enough!" an old, wizened voice shouted. Elda watched as Zevran was hit with a blast of energy that threw him against the opposite wall. He groaned and felt the back of his head. One of the men approached and kicked the dagger he had been using out of Zevran's reach, grasping his throat and hauling him to his feet.

Hard footfalls echoed down the hallway, and suddenly the room was far too full. Elda felt dizzy taking in all the information. Alistair stood in the door, mouth twisted in a fury, face red with indignation. A full guard of his men were surrounding him on all sides. Wynne and Greagoir were standing side by side, the old womanly mage staring at Elda with something like remorse on her face. That was when Elda realized all of the men, the ones holding her and Zevran, the man with the gaping wound on his arm, were all templars. She swallowed thickly. This was a seizure, and she was the contraband.

A man moved behind her and bound her arms. Zevran made move towards her, but the man behind him was human and much stronger. She blinked and glanced around wildly, finally centering on Wynne. "You..." she snarled, lunging for the old mage. "You would betray me? After all that I've done for you?"

Zevran stared with nothing but pure hatred at Wynne. Alistair's mouth gaped. Wynne straightened up, though, in the face of their hatred and tried to keep her voice steady. "There are rules, Elda, and consequences. And you are no exception to them."

"Do you know what you have done?" Elda yelled. "You have signed my daughter's death warrant, that is what! And you have signed your own."

Alistair stepped forward, talking to Greagoir. "I won't allow this! I am the king, and I demand that you let her go. Zevran, too."

Greagoir bowed his head. "I am sorry, your majesty, but I'm afraid the templars supersede the crown in these matters. It is the Maker's will that all bloodmages and their accomplices be put to death."

Elda thrashed against the man's hold. "You cannot do this! I am your hero! I saved you from the Blight."

"You are no exception," Wynne whispered sadly.

"Maker damn you, Wynne! I saved your life! I took you to Aneirin! I saved the damn circle and all you worthless templars even though I hate you with ever last fiber of my being! Still you betray me?" she demanded wildly, anger pulsing through her veins.

"What's done is done," Greagoir said, and he gestured with his hand for the templar behind her to march forward. He shoved her, forcing her to walk. Zevran was close behind, whispering what sounded like death threats in his own language.

"Alistair, you can't let them do this! What about Rinna?" Elda shouted behind her in desperation. They were wasting time. They were going to kill her and her daughter unknowingly. A child. A helpless child.

"I'll figure something out," Alistair promised. Then he turned, and Elda could hear him shouting at Wynne, demanding to know what she had done, how she could do it, and how they could reverse it.

In the meantime, Elda was marched down the castle corridor with nothing but her necklace to cover her naked body, betrayed, in danger, and full of mistrust all over again.

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**Hm, now all the people who just read this for the sex scene are going to leave. XD Well, stick around because I'm sure there will be another one. This is rated M after all. Thanks for reading. Review please. What'd you think about the ending? Suspenseful...**


	22. Prison

**Title: Snow and Ice**

**Rating: Mature**

**Warnings: Sexual content, minor language, violence, blood, use of alcohol**

**Summary: Once upon a time, a maleficar had stopped the blight. Afterwards, she'd left for the colder North, leaving love for a life of loneliness and wandering. No one was to look for her. So why was Alistair calling her back? Zev/Surana**

**Author's Note: Thank you for reading. Review please.**

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"_He that is taken and put into prison is not conquered, but overcome; for he is still an enemy."_

-Thomas Hobbes

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Chapter 22

The Knight-Commander shoved her into the prison cell so hard she nearly tumbled into the wall. She recovered quickly, swinging around almost before he locked the doors. Almost. He stepped back. "How can you possibly get away with this?" she demanded of Greagoir, shivering in her ratty prison clothes, fingers curled around the bars. "I am a Grey Warden, damn you."

Disgust shone in his eyes, giving him a mad glint. "You consort with demons, make deals with them, absorb them as if they were harmless. You've attacked templars and killed innocents. You also have an apostate daughter. We have reports of missing people, humans, elves, and dwarves alike all last seen with you. Grey Warden or no, the Chantry has declared you a danger to yourself and others. You must be euthanized and judged before the Maker."

"Damn your Maker!" she hissed at his back as he left. "I did what I had to in order to survive! But how could you ever understand?" With a snarl full of contempt, she wrenched away from the bars and wrapped her arms around herself. She walked over to the wall and sat against it, leaning her head against the bars that separated her and the next cell. The cold metal of her shackles bit into her wrists and ankles. It was like being trapped at Fort Drakon all over again, this time without hope of real rescue.

Imprisoned in the highest room of the tallest tower like a dejected princess.

And truly, it would have been nice to have someone next to her to breathe into the crushing silence a small, "what now?" so that she did not have to. It would sound so lonely from her mouth, bouncing off the stony walls only to come right back to her. While she was crouched into a ball, breathing fog onto her clammy hands, her mind went to Zevran and what he was enduring for his loving her. No doubt he would be beaten nearly to death before he was thrown into a different cell. There were stories of the horrid things templars did to maleficarum before they killed them. She willed him her strength and her stubbornness, though she knew they could not break him. No one could. His Crows had taught him a tolerance for pain that was nearly unnatural.

The incense that normally permeated every last breathable inch of air in the tower was faint up there in the cells. She couldn't feel the roaring warmth of fire that was almost magical in its long reach. Laughter, the smell of molded books, potions, lyrium…all of it was so far away and lost beneath the cobblestone floor that stung her bare feet. When she was still a part of the circle, the templars used to march maleficarum through the hallways and up to the winding path that was forbidden to apprentices. There, she assumed, they would await their deaths. The others had been frightened of them, but she had looked on in fascination. How exactly would they die? Would it be so mundane as a simple swing of a templar's sword and a life would end? Or would there be some sort of prop and ceremony, burning candles and a sacrificial alter while the High Priest read off her crimes before the Maker?

Not that she envisioned sticking around for such a ceremony whether it would be glamorous or not. She would find a way out and soon. Exhaustion from the long ride in a prison wagon all the way to the tower was weighing on her, though, and slowing down her thinking process. Not to mention when she had arrived a cold shower had been waiting for her to stomp all hope of warmth out of her mind and body. She was freezing, and if she didn't do something soon, her affinity for ice would be the death of her. Maybe they just let the maleficarum freeze to death, and to them that was justice. She didn't remember anyone of those mages ever leaving, however. No bodies were carried in secret down the hall, no crying families came to mourn. But then, why would a mage ever have family?

Feeling her eyelids droop, she launched herself into a standing position and began to pace the length of the cell, hoping to get a bit of blood pumping. However, the cobblestone flooring simply stung her feet and reminded her of the cold. Her breath puffed out in agitated little clouds that lingered in her thinking space. The bars were too thick to ever think of pulling apart, too closely put together for even her emaciated body to slide out of. Would they starve her to death? Would her end be quick and painless or would it last seemingly a lifetime?

"What is it like to die?" she breathed into the empty space, realizing that this was the true question she was asking. Dancing around it did no good. She wanted to know. Was it full of pain? Did one really return to the Maker, or was it the Creators? Was it the dwarven ancestors? Did mages wander the Fade? And if all of these things were true, why did so many of them go to so many different places? Why should a mage be in a different place than his dwarven wife? Why should the Dalish go to their Creators when the city elves would go to the Maker?

Too much thinking was making her head hurt. She lifted her hands, both of them for they were chained together, and pulled at the strands of her wicked snowy hair. She was shivering quite erratically by that point, feeling her teeth clack together. She considered working out, doing a few laps even though she was tired, but space was limited. There was enough room for her to walk maybe three steps in each direction. Not enough to run around or exercise. Plus, the manacles limited her movement as well, putting her in a terrible position. What was she to do?

Unconsciously, she began to bob up and down in place, chewing on her lower lip. Recalling the moment on the roof when she had attempted to use blood magic with the collar on was painful. And since when had the Circle employed the mage collars? If it was just a simple thing as the templars putting spells on the bars so that she couldn't cast, that could easily be overtaken with blood magic. That was why the Chantry feared it. They couldn't control it. They couldn't block it. Taking away a mage's mana was easily done and stopped all casting. One couldn't take away a mage's blood, and that was a reservoir that hardly ran dry.

Voices outside the door had her head snapping up in attention. Momentarily, she stopped breathing, straining to hear the muffled words just outside of the huge wooden door across the room. It sounded like someone relieving an officer. The stomp of a foot. A few more seconds of chattering before it died down. She went to the bars and wrenched on them a few times, growling low in her throat.

The door on the opposite side would ruin her chances at escape as well. It was made of oak, of that she was certain; her time spent with the Dalish had not been a complete waste of time. Thick bars of warped metal kept the templars from opening it without a key. The latch must have weighed twenty pounds. She could remember seeing Greagoir struggle with it. Being a mage, a female elf, and possibly the thinnest person in Ferelden would not help her with escape.

She began to pace again.

Things continued slowly. Elda began to mark the hours by carving a little scratch into the wall with the cuff of her manacles, slamming it against the stony surface. She determined that every two hours the templars outside the door were relieved and new ones were put in place, wide-eyed and ready for anything. If the opportunity to escape came along, she figured that leaving at the end of a shift would be best as the guards were tired and bored of standing there.

She slept very little, afraid of the effects of the cold. At times, she couldn't feel the fingers in her good hand. Other times, it was her feet that were numb. Once, two shifts after she had gotten there, her entire calf went numb and her toes were beginning to turn blue. She jumped up and down, ran in place despite the shackles, exercised until the sweat poured down her face and she could feel life pumping through her veins like never before. They would kill her. Anyone who hadn't spent six years in the snowy wasteland of Ferelden would have already died.

It was nearly twenty-two hours later that Irving visited her cage and stood in front of the bars. She shielded her eyes from the candelabra he brought in with him as it had been dark in her end of the tower for a few hours and the light was blinding. Glancing up at him through her fingertips, she blinked groggily at him, not trusting her own mind. Was he really standing there? Did the warmth from the fire really reach so far, or was she so cold that even the slightest bit of warmth was noticeable? Her limbs were gone, icy chunks on her lap. Surely she was dead at this point if not delusional.

"How are you, child?" he asked in that slow, deep voice of his. She leaned her head back against the bars, the side of her face left to him. A red imprint stood out stark against her pale complexion. Clearly she had been leaning there for hours.

How was she? Lost, hungry, cold—so very cold—tired, afraid, shaken, unstable. There were so many adjectives, but how much time did she have to answer? Not enough to tell him everything. Not enough to beg him to let her out. _I need help_, she wanted to say, but when she opened her mouth, warm blood flowed from where her lips had cracked.

"I am dying," she whispered in a raspy, deadpanned voice that was not her own. So cruel were these people to let her rot in this cage. She had saved them all. What was the price? What had that earned her? She was going to lose it all. Her daughter, her lover, and her own life. Why had she wasted so much time?

"Not here you won't," he leaned down, knees cracking in his old age. "The templars are planning to take you to the Chantry tomorrow. You will be executed."

Why was he telling her this? To bring her hope? To let her know that the suffering would only be for a little while? She did not look at him, but she could feel his hot breath on her ear as he tried to whisper. For some reason, he didn't want to be overheard.

"I know that we mages teach you that blood magic is wrong, and it is, but what Greagoir has done is against the rules. You are a Grey Warden and so untouchable by the Chantry, the Crown, and the Circle. He thinks that because the Blight is over for now that the Grey Wardens will not be protected by those that are loyal to them." The candelabra was close to her face. She did turn her head then, intrigued for the first time in hours. Shifting, she wrapped her tiny hand around the bars, the angry glint back in her eyes.

"What are you suggesting, Enchanter?" she hissed, her breath coming out in a puff of fog.

"I am suggesting that you come with me to your escape, child, and that you rescue your daughter and leave Ferelden forever with that rogue fellow. I am suggesting that you take your chance at the happiness the Chantry would steal from you," he set the candelabra down and stared at her with something like sadness mixed with affection. "You were always the smartest of my pupils, my favorite though we are not supposed to have favorites. The day you came to the tower, you caught the attention of everyone in it. We did not know your destiny, but we knew by some small instinct that you were important. I guarded you the best I could, please know that. Sometimes...I failed, but I tried nevertheless to help you at every turn."

He produced from his sleeve a small key. It was so small, she wondered if it was even for the lock. Surely not. But he was speaking again, and she was listening, feeling the life come back to her limbs and her heart. "I loved you as my own child, Elda Surana. I do not want to watch another one of my children die because she wishes to be free." He stood up with a swiftness of a man half his age and turned the key in the lock. He opened the door for her, unlocked her manacles, and hugged her hard.

More than the emotional support, she hugged him back for the warmth. He was an old man, thin and scratchy, but warm nevertheless. She hadn't felt such a bond with him, always finding him distasteful and yielding to Greagoir's commands. Perhaps she had been wrong. But she was finished with lingering on what could have been.

"Your weapon is in my office on the desk. The door is open, as you will remember. The time is late, and you will have to be stealthy in order to get past the templars, but I trust in your skill. I do not think that we will meet again, child," he told her sadly, wrinkled hands touching her bony face. She gripped his wrist and then turned to leave but hesitated, remembering.

"Zevran?" she asked in a small voice, wanting nothing more than to plunge into the tower and feel the warmth on her face.

Irving managed a small smile. In the light of the candelabra, he looked so much older. So tired and so world-weary. Like Wynne, she thought, staring at him. "Already free, I suspect. He will find you. I am sure of it."

She hesitated again as he put out the candles one by one with his fingers. "Thank you," she said in a voice so soft that he probably couldn't hear. She slipped into the hallway and melted into the shadows.

"You're welcome," Irving answered quietly.

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**Faster, yes? My family matters have been dealt with, and I'm back into the swing of things. There, see? Someone didn't betray her. Hurrah! Hopefully I explained the whole Grey Warden bloodmage thing, since a lot of people reviewed about it. Greagoir was breaking the rules, for he is a bad guy in this. I think the next one will be longer. These chapters are too short, which is why I have so many. What do you think? Thank you for reading. Review, please. **


	23. Bonnie and Clyde

**Title: Snow and Ice**

**Rating: Mature**

**Warnings: Sexual content, minor language, violence, blood, use of alcohol**

**Summary: Once upon a time, a maleficar had stopped the blight. Afterwards, she'd left for the colder North, leaving love for a life of loneliness and wandering. No one was to look for her. So why was Alistair calling her back? Zev/Surana**

**Author's Note: Thank you for reading. Review please.**

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Chapter 23

Life flooded back into her limbs the moment she exited into the corridor, proving that the enchantment in the tower where she had been kept was just as magical as the rest of the place. It was very much like being thrown into a hot bath after standing out in the snow for a few hours. Warmth sprang back into her fingers and toes almost painfully, leaving behind a distinct tingling sensation. The surface of her skin was still cold, dangerously so, but the heat was penetrating fast and warming her insides as well.

Fingers curling around the hard surface of her collar, she wondered if perhaps Greagoir had the key. Surely he would never be so stupid as to give it to Irving? And Irving was not the most agile of men. There was no chance he'd be able to steal it from Greagoir without the templar noticing. Shaking herself, she began to creep down the hallway, taking to the shadows and staying with them. Torches on every corner ruined her stealth, but she didn't encounter any templars. As far as she could tell, she was in some hidden catacomb close to the top. Could Irving have taken out the templars guarding her? She couldn't see any bodies.

Eventually the hallway began to slope downwards, and the torches became fewer and far between. She had to be going down the tower in some way, but there were no doors, no secret passages. Placing her clammy hand on the wall to feel as the darkness began to swallow her, she scraped her nails across the wall, trying to catch them in some crease. The darkness became absolute, and she tried not to stumble as the hallway became narrower and steeper. Eventually the walls were so crushing that her shoulders were touching both sides. A human would most certainly have to turn to the side. Greagoir's looming figure would be unable to traverse the narrow passage. She cursed in Dalish, still walking, feeling that she must have missed a door or something imprinted in the wall when suddenly the ground dropped out from underneath her.

Elda fell, a sharp cry escaping her lips, hands scrambling for purchase on something, anything. Her stomach flipped, nausea and that certain feeling of weightlessness making her head spin. Fear and adrenaline improved her reflexes. One of her hands grabbed the edge of the floor above as it whipped past her head, narrowly missing her nose. As her body jerked to a stop, her fingers slid on the rough, stone floor but she didn't let go. Her arm trembled, her heart pounding. Immediately, she heaved another arm onto the stone, feet scrambling for purchase. The floor dropped into a sheer cliff. She was pressed against a solid wall.

Elda's body was already feeling the strain of her precarious dangling position. She dug her elbow in, knees pushing against the stone to help her to her feet. Hard granules in the mortar imprinted painfully on her hands. Panting, trying to be as silent as the situation allowed, she finally was able to scramble up the side and fell onto her hands and knees, blinking in the darkness. Absently, she realized she was growling low in her throat. Frustration along with a bit of embarrassment colored her cheeks. She hadn't been conscious when they'd brought her in the first time. She didn't know the way, and hadn't Irving known that? He could have told where to go.

The collar prevented her from lighting a fire so that she could see. If it wasn't so _dark_. She peered over the edge, hands grasping the hard surface. What was down there? Surely _that _couldn't be the way out. She wasn't as tall as a human, but she was lanky for an elf. Her feet hadn't scraped a bottom and the updraft told her the fall was steep. Besides, the tunnel was narrow, and there was no way the bulky figures of the templars could traverse such a place.

"Where am I?" she whispered aloud.

Curious, she began palming the air, careful not to lose her balance as she stretched out her hand. Perhaps there was another side that she had to jump to? Casting a glance backwards, she wondered vaguely if she should backtrack and search the walls again for a crease that might or might not be there. Or, she could jump and try to reach a ledge that might or might not be there. Or she could simply lower herself over the edge and hope her feet reached some sort of ground without injury. She considered.

Backtracking would lose too much time. The templars would have to discover that the bird had gotten out of its cage. Jumping to find a ledge would just add to the impact force when or if she hit the ground. Lowering herself seemed to be the best plan, but what if there was nothing there? _Quite the leap of faith_, she thought. _Or a drop of faith._ Did she have faith in her ability to land safely? Yes. But if the fall were to be too steep, she could risk breaking a limb. Without her magic, there was nothing she would be able to do to heal herself if that did occur. Sighing, she squinted again at the vacuous space before her and turned around, toes dragging along the opaque surface as she slowly lowered herself.

When her elbows were level with her head, she stopped and took a deep breath, stretching her legs. The desire to feel anything touch her foot right then was almost palpable. She stretched even her still frozen toes, hanging by the very tips of her fingers. There was nothing. Nothing at all. Disappointment washed through her followed by an overwhelming wave of apprehension. It was like facing the Harrowing again. She rested her forehead against the solid part, hot breath making condensation against the stone. Forcing herself to stop shaking, she glanced up, then let go.

At once gravity took over, pulling her lithe body down, down, down at a surprising rate. She squeezed her eyes shut, the cold air making them water. She tried to keep her legs straight, ready to bend them when they hit the ground. And she did strike the ground. Though she was only in the air for a few seconds, it had felt like an incredible amount of time. Elda landed with a groan, legs falling out from underneath her and forcing her onto the ground. She stretched out her fingers, feeling the reassuring stone beneath, the cold seeping through the thin prison shirt and into her warm back as a canvas absorbs paint.

Elda sat up, smoothing down her hair. A sharp pain radiated upwards from her back, but as far as she could tell there was no lasting damage. When she lifted her snow-white hand, a long rectangle of yellow light caught it. She stared at it curiously before casting a glance behind. There, about four feet from where she was sitting, was a yellow crease in the wall. Sitting up gingerly, she limped over to the crease with care and peaked through it. Irving's office was spread out in front of her.

She had to resist the urge to laugh. "Whoever said mages weren't clever?" she whispered, wedging her fingers through the crack and prying open the door.

It was much warmer away from the corridor, a torch burning brightly in the corner of Irving's office. The place brought back memories. After all, how many times had she been called to his office for some nefarious scheme? How many times had she and Jowan stood side by side, covered in paint or water or some other liquid, grinning from ear to ear even as Irving yelled at them? Sometimes even holding hands?

Shaking her head, she noticed that the large wooden door was shut and went to Irving's desk. Her robes sat folded neatly along with her ugly and shapeless shoes, amulet folded into a pile on top. Two different rings, one old and lackluster, slightly melted, the other silver and faintly cold, sat side by side on top of a book with red binding. The staff was leaning against the far wall. Slipping on her rings and stepping out of her clothes, she reached for her robes only to have her hand caught in a fierce grip. Startled, she started to swing around with her fist, but the person caught the other hand before it could make contact.

"None of that, if you please," said a rich, male voice that had her relaxing in a minute.

"Zevran," she sighed, "could you please not do that?" She glanced up at him and then blinked in surprise. A dark, purplish bruise was forming on the corner of his jaw, his lip split, eye blackened. He smelled of blood and violence, sweat and metal. His daggers were strapped tightly to his back, a particularly small one belted to his forearm. She touched his face, smearing the blood on her thumb.

"Poor baby," she cooed. He grinned.

"Ah, it is not as bad as it looks, and trust me, I know how bad it looks. I had to sneak through your apprentice quarters amongst all the scantily clad young magelings and caught sight of myself in a mirror," he said, hands sliding up to rest on her shoulders. His eyes slid down over her bare body and smirked wider. "Speaking of scantily clad."

She chuckled and smacked his arm, turning around. "Later. Right now, we've got to get out of here before the templars realize we're gone and then get to some safe place where I can call Ikilai. Then, we go after Alaeze and rescue our daughter."

"Sounds like a plan," he said, scooping up her clothes and shoving them into a desk drawer. "Oh, and by the way," he continued as she tied her robes, "I found this on someone's belt. Who'd have thought?"

He tossed it at her, and she barely had enough to time to catch it. Scrambling, she held it up to the light. A tiny, rusted key lay in the palm of her hand. Presumably for her collar. Immediately, Zevran grabbed the key from her and seized the back of the collar, thrusting the key in and turning it in the latch. The click seemed to echo in her ears, and it was just as dizzying a relief as before to get it off, perhaps less so because it hadn't been on for very long. She tossed the collar onto the desk, and Zevran moved to hide it in the same drawer.

Walking to the opposite wall, he grabbed her staff and tossed it at her. "Now, what's the best way to get out of here?" he asked.

Catching the staff around the grip, she flipped it over once before banging it softly on the floor, a few sparks flying in the air as it hit. The ground was stained with soot where it landed. "Best or safest? Downstairs is the best, the great door on the first floor, but it'll be guarded by at least three templars, maybe more, and a whole lot on the way down. If we want to remain silent, that way is a bad idea. There are no windows what with the whole 'apostate' thing except on the very top floor, about two stories up, actually, in the Harrowing chamber. That might be the safest bet with one or two templars because so many elders live up there in the mage's quarter. They would never run away and catch most if not all the younger apprentices. They figure it's safe."

Zevran watched her slip the amulet around her neck, pacing, thinking. "I say we go up. You don't have any problems with assassinating a few mages, do you?"

"No," she answered adamantly. He approached her then, fingers working deftly on the buckle around his forearm.

"Good," he said, handing her the dagger and sheath all. "You're not going to be able to use magic. Remember what I taught you? You'll have to employ all your skills."

She touched his cheek. "I'll be all right, Zev," she insisted. He didn't look convinced. Glancing down, he took in the rugged state of her amulet, a vial of blood given to her by the wardens. Darkspawn blood. Glancing around, he took of his own amulet and slipped it around her neck.

"Zev, this is yours, I can't-" but he shushed her with a kiss on the mouth.

"I insist, dear warden," he said, then put a finger to her lips before she could protest. He grabbed her hand. "We should leave. I don't know how long it's been since dark fell, but I don't feel as though we have enough time."

"Zevran," she addressed him, a thought coming to her. "You do realize that the outside of the tower is completely flat? There's nothing to hold on to and nothing in the Harrowing chamber we can use as rope. Not to mention there isn't a rope in Ferelden that might reach the bottom of the tower. How are we going to get down?"

"I'm sure I'll think of something," he replied, fingers sliding between the giant door of Irving's room. "Now be quiet and stay alert."

Zevran poked his nose out of the doorway and glanced both ways down the corridor. Leading her out by the hand and sticking to the corners tightly, he turned toward the right while she jerked to the left. It would have been comical had they not been running for their lives. She actually tried to hide a smile while she pointed down her way where the stairs could be seen around the bend. Zevran gave her a cheeky grin as he passed by. It was almost like sneaking into Howe's castle all over again, with fewer flirtations and drunken dwarves.

She stuck behind him, keeping hold of his hand and silently indicating the direction he should go. They ran into nearly no templars, as they were probably all down at the bottom. No apprentice was foolish enough to jump out of the window on the top floor, though she didn't down that at least one or two was guarding the Harrowing chamber. There were too many curious mages in the tower. Curiosity restricted the cat to the library on free days.

They wound around the third level easily; only once did they have a close call. Zevran had been watching the shadows from the torches the templars carried. It was a bit difficult to figure out for Elda, but he seemed to have a plan for everything. A templar had just gone toward the stairs when he doubled back out of nowhere. Zevran had slammed Elda into a corner so fast by the shoulders that she could hardly snuff out her gasp in time. The templar didn't seem to hear it, however, and walked right past them.

On the highest floor, things got harder. Every few minutes or so they were ducking into classrooms or behind shelves. Once Elda even knocked a purple bottle off a desk to Zevran's horror, only to catch it just before it shattered. The sigh of relief then could have blown the archdemon away. It seemed every few minutes were wrought with peril. They kept their daggers tucked to their sides, however, and tried not to need them. They almost succeeded until they reached the top only to have the backside of a rather tall templar rise up out of the darkness.

Zevran wound his arm about her waist and pulled her back, ducking around the door. She nodded toward the templar, turning Zevran's face so that he could see her. Zevran gestured to the dagger strapped to his back and pointed at the man. She hesitated. Taking the life of any templar would mean a problem because then they would have to stash the body. Templar armor was not light by any means. It would make noise and risk discovery. She worried her lower lip and then held up her hand, allowing a tiny flurry of snow crystals to form there. _I could freeze him, _she meant to say, pointing.

The assassin shook his head, though, and tapped the blade again. She put her hand over it and gestured him forward. _Distract him, _he translated, _and I'll freeze him from behind. Absolutely silent. _She put a finger to her lips and nodded once, letting go of his dagger. Zevran hesitated a few more seconds, then put a hand on her back and slipped through the door.

Somehow, she didn't quite know how as she wasn't paying attention, but Zevran snuck right past the man. She knew that at times he could be nearly invisible in the shadows, the god of stealth. The trip during the Blight had just allowed him to fashion and sharpen his skills until he became a most efficient assassin. Then, spending a long couple of years in Antiva to get rid of some old friends had made him more a master than he would have thought possible.

Finally, it didn't matter how he got in front of the templar, only that he did, and Elda was ready. Zevran stepped out of the shadows with his hands on his hips, whistling softly to himself like wandering apprentice. The templar screwed up his face, and Zevran stopped in front of him.

"Oi! What are you doing up here? Don't you know you're supposed to be in bed? The Senior Enchanter _and _Greagoir will be hearing about this!" he said in a rush about to take a step forward.

Elda stopped him though with her hand on his shoulder, head down, speaking low enough so that he could hear. Her grip was firm, gentle."They know; trust me." From her hand, a web of ice exploded energetically, lines crisscrossing across the armor with a crackling sound. But it spread deeper beneath the skin, coating his muscles and bones in a thin layer of frost and stopping all movement. On the outside, it layered up into a thick coating that spread across his face and silenced him forever. He was dead. She could feel it when she extracted her hand from his shoulder.

As if to finish the job, though there was no way the templar was even alive let alone going to move, Zevran sank his dagger into the poor lad's skull. When he pulled it out, icy chunks of blood poured down over his face, making the templar look a bit like a macabre statue.

"Nicely done," she whispered sarcastically.

"Thank you," he replied with a sweeping bow before turning around and continuing down the hallway. She took one last critical look at the state of the templar, a small amount of guilt pulling at her stomach—he was such a young man—before taking off after him at a slow trot.

When they reached the Harrowing chamber after dealing with one more guard and yanking his body around so that it was completely hidden from view behind a stack of boxes, Zevran opened the door without looking around. Luckily, there was no one in the chamber as she had predicted. After shutting the door, she pointed to the huge stained glass window on the other side.

"There it is," she said.

Zevran pulled out his dagger and began hammering away at bits of the mirror. Not long after, he'd cut away a bit tall and wide enough for them to fit through. The smell of Lake Calenhad wafted through the opening, the sound of slapping waves on the shore like music to her ears. She glanced outside. There was a ledge about a foot long that they could stand on, but as she had said, there was nothing to hold onto. Only ten foot of island stood between them and the lake at the bottom. The dark blue water lapped gently at the shore, almost teasingly.

She swiped the hair from her eyes and crossed her arms against the cold. "So, now what?"

"Now?" he asked, brows crinkled. He seemed to consider it for a moment, then grinned. "We jump."

"Are you absolutely insane?" she protested at once. "That's got to be at least ten foot of island if not fifteen or twenty! You may be some healthy, powerful rogue, but I'm a mage. I haven't the strength to lift firewood, let alone jump that height."

It didn't matter. With a chuckle, he spun her around and kissed her hard on the mouth. Before she could recover, her put an arm around her waist and jumped, pulling her with him. It was very much like falling through the air when she'd been in that corridor, only longer and much more frightening. This time, she was sure she was going to die as the ground rushed up to meet them. Zevran held her close though until the very end. When she plunged into the blood-warm water, there was such a relief that she hadn't never known before. She opened her eyes and glanced around. Through blurred vision, she saw Zevran swimming upwards, so she did the same, kicking her feet and trying not to get them tangled in her robes.

He surfaced before she did, but he waited.

"I can't believe you did that!" she cried, hitting him. He laughed and dunked her under the water, in glorious spirits for a man who had just been beaten up. When she surfaced, she gasped: "Do that again, and you'll be the next one I freeze."

"I'm shivering in my boots, lass," he said, patting her on the back when she began choking. When she sought to dunk him, he swam off toward the shore at a rapid pace but slow enough so that she could keep up after a slight hesitation.

* * *

**Hmm, thought this would be longer. Well, no matter. Sorry for being late, but there was an art thing at school about creative writing. Had to check it out. Forgot about this totally for a few days. Oops.**


	24. Old Wounds

Title: Snow and Ice

**Rating: Mature**

**Warnings: Sexual content, minor language, violence, blood, use of alcohol**

**Summary: Once upon a time, a maleficar had stopped the blight. Afterwards, she'd left for the colder North, leaving love for a life of loneliness and wandering. No one was to look for her. So why was Alistair calling her back? Zev/Surana**

**Author's Note: Thank you for reading. Review please.**

* * *

_Where has my life gone?_

_Where has my fight gone?_

_What keeps us burning when the fire has long gone?_

* * *

Chapter 24

She reached the shore a dripping mess, lazily wiping the hair from her pout of a mouth and startling eyes. Zevran trudged ashore and flopped on his back with a groan. A large hand came up to remove the water dripping from his eyes, droplets clinging to his eyelashes, rivulets running down the stretch of his tattoos. Elda kneeled beside him, panting from exertion though she'd exerted little. Zevran put an arm around her waist and drew her down on top of him, fingers going to her hair, lips crashing against hers. The two fit together perfectly, and for a moment she was content to lie in his arms. She wondered how she had ever gone without his company.

"We've got to go," she told him, breaking the kiss and sitting up so that she straddled his waist, hands against his chest. His hands massaged her sides. "Greagoir will notice I'm gone."

"And what about me?" he demanded, feigning hurt. "Do you think he will not notice my absence?"

"I think he expected you to break out just as Irving did and to leave me behind," she said, caressing his cheek gently, fingers tracing the slope of his marked cheek.

With a huff of breath as if the idea was absolutely ludicrous, he flipped her over and lay on top. She wrapped her long legs around his torso. "What? And suffer the wrath of a goddess? My dear, I am no fool."

"No, you're not," she answered. Then she pushed on his chest. "Come on. We have to go. They will be looking for us."

"So pushy," he breathed but stood nevertheless and helped her to her own feet, brushing a bit of hair behind her ear. "But I suppose there will be time for simple pleasures later." Giddiness was a product of her new found freedom, and she wanted to laugh at his forlorn expression though she knew it was fake. Just a normal aspect of his personality. Ah, it was like their young love all over again.

"I think we should head west to the Brecilian Forest and seek refuge with the Dalish," Elda continued, taking his hand after picking up her staff and leading him up the bank. The moon was fat and full, shining overhead and reflecting on the surface of the placid lake. Wind blowing from the direction of the lake was warm and refreshing.

"You think they will harbor a bloodmage, do you?" he asked, hand pressing against his ribs as though he were injured as he followed.

"I think they will harbor one of their sisters and a lost traveler," she replied smoothly pausing as her shoes shuffled over the soft grass and away from the sandy bank.

"Oh, I'm not lost," he said, hands coming up to cup her wicked face. "I'm right where I want to be." He kissed her, but she made a noise and drew him away.

"Zevran," she said seriously, "my daughter is missing. I know you haven't known her for very long, but Rinna is my whole world. I can't imagine not living without her. I love her as much as I love you. We can talk once this is all over. We can be a family when I have her in my arms, and I know she is safe. For now, we need to focus."

"Right," he sighed. "I agree. Do you have a specific clan in mind? Or are we to blunder about in the woods until we find one?"

"Tilanai's clan won't be far this time of year," she answered, glancing up to the stars. "Winter is coming."

"Does it snow in Ferelden?" he wondered aloud. "If it does, this may be harder than I imagined."

"And you thought it would be easy, did you?" she scoffed. "As to whether or not it snows, I've no idea. It snowed it Haven."

"Ah, Haven was on a mountain, my dear."

The wind was warm, but she shivered in it nonetheless as they walked away from the sandy bank. She took a piece of twine that she'd tied around her staff and, shoving the bottom into the sand, tied up the soaking tresses of her hair. Saturated with water, her robes were heavy and hanging from her bones. The farther they got from Lake Calenhad, the colder it would get. They would need to stop and make a fire along the way to the Brecilian Forest.

Zevran put a fevered arm around her shoulders and guided her forward. "We'll walk the rest of the night before making camp. It's best to get as far away from here as possible."

"I know," she said, using her staff as a walking stick. "Creators, it's like the Blight all over again. Only now we're separated from our companions, and something far more precious is on the line."

"That and we will probably be eating better," Zevran mused quietly.

She laughed. "I suppose I won't be missing Alistair's cooking."

They marched on. Soon the glassy surface of Lake Calenhad was swallowed by a forest of gnarled trees and collapsing underbrush. Skittering animals and crunching leaves filled the air with a myriad of sounds. Fatigue weighed heavily on Elda, at last feeling the effects of being locked up for so long and not sleeping. Zevran walked with an arm around her waist, guiding her as she stumbled along. No words passed between them. There was very little to say, after all, and Zevran was in as much pain as she was.

Eventually the pain in Zevran's ribs forced them to stop. He sat down on a fallen tree while she gathered twigs and made a small fire. They were a hundreds of yards away from the tower by that point, but Elda couldn't help but cast small glances over her shoulder. Zevran yanked off his tattered armor and leaned back, inspecting the wound. A large, black bruise was spread across his ribs. After a few minutes of watching him prod the wound with a frown on his face, Elda sighed and went to his side.

"After all the injuries you've had in the past, you still don't know how to manage one?" she demanded patiently. As they had no bandages or poultices or even the means to make one at that moment, she decided to employ what little magic in the healing arts she had. A dark blue glow enveloped her fingers, and she pressed her palm softly to his skin. He hissed.

"Perhaps I am truly incompetent," he sighed dramatically. "Or perhaps I just wished for a lovely nurse to aid me."

She ignored him, using her mana to assess the damage. "One of your ribs is broken, and another is cracked. I can try to heal some of the damaged tissue, but the bones are too deep for me to reach."

He grinned. "Didn't Wynne teach you how to be a healer?"

"I've forgotten a lot of it," she said sadly, moving her hand lightly over the damaged area. "With the Dalish, I perfected my blood magic and shape-shifting. Ferias taught me much of his old magic, corrupt old arts that the Tevinter Imperium once employed. So much corruption has tainted my skills."

"Ferias? Former lover, I take it?" Zevran asked, wagging his eyebrows suggestively. He winced when she purposefully applied pressure to the injury.

A soft smile fell across her lips. "I think he would have liked to have been. He was slightly older than you, but so wise and charming and full of kindness. He was an apprentice for the Keeper and had been since he was a child. He was the one who convinced Tilanai to take me in. During my pregnancy, he was the one who defended me from the gossiping older women and helped me learn how to hunt with a bow." The blackness of his bruise was beginning to bleed away beneath her fingertips along with most of the pain. "You can meet him, if you like. I'm positive he will still be with his clan."

"Hmm, and you believe that the Dalish will allow you to perform blood magic right beneath their noses?" Zevran asked sleepily.

"I believe that my brothers and sisters will understand. I was born a Dalish elf, and the tower took me from my clan. They have always been sympathetic, especially since the discovery that I am the last of my line." The blue light faded, and she sat back on her knees. "Well, not the last, I suppose with Rinna's birth."

Zevran shifted, moving further up on the log and picked up his leather armor, sliding it over his marked and scarred skin. He sat back, the light throwing shadows on his face. "We will save her, Elda. I will not let her die before I get the chance to know her."

"It's been so long, Zevran," she sighed, feeling her eyes burn but no tears come. "What reason could they have to keep her alive? Creators, I was so stupid to attack Alaeze in the Fade. I might have killed my own daughter." Her blue eyes met his dark, honeyed ones and held them.

He was about to speak, but she clasped a hand over his mouth and shushed him, eyes trailing up to the moon where it rested like a ghostly galleon in the sky. All that time in the tower, she'd spent so many sleepless nights staring at that moon. It had symbolized freedom. It had symbolized a life she would never have. She would never feel the pureness of it's moonlight on her flesh, never feel the joy of a baby kicking inside of her, never touch grass or flowers. Never kiss a man that was not a mage. Sitting there with Zevran, even in mortal danger, her daughter's life on the line, she couldn't help but not regret any of it. A tiny part of her was still thrilling at the experiences she had had even if most of them had been bad. It disgusted her, and she took that disgust and allowed it to burn inside of her. Zevran's voice would have broken it. Zevran's voice would have called her back from her self-loathing.

Cool hands caught her wrist and face, turning so that their lips met in a soft kiss. There was nothing demanding about it. Confidence and caring and love flowed into her, and she finally did feel a wetness in her eyes, but she blinked it back. She pulled back. "We should get some rest. By tomorrow, we should be able to reach the clan."

"I'd venture that it is tomorrow already," he said, enveloping her in a warm embrace. She lay her head against his chest, the beat of his heart deafening.

"I say we rest until the dawn, and then we make haste to the cover of the dense trees. The spirits will keep them at bay, as will the threat of the Dalish. _If_ they are chasing us, that is." A blood mage sentenced to death would be at the top of the list of wanted criminals. She was surprised that Greagoir's hounds were upon them already.

"Oh, I believe they are. Let's not forget the Knight-Commander was breaking the rules. Grey Wardens are untouchable. If that should leak out…" he trailed off, making a gesture with his hand.

"The king already knows," she frowned. "Do you think Alistair can do anything about it?"

"Alistair is full of surprises. If I have learned nothing else, it is that one should never underestimate him."

"Thoughts for another time," she sighed and curled into his side.

* * *

When morning came, it was not with the calming rise of the sun and the gentle twittering of yellow birds. The fire had died off in the night, yet the smoke rose high like a beacon, broad-casting their location. She had fallen asleep without dousing the flames, and Zevran hadn't given it a second thought when he too had drifted off sometime in the morning. Her body heavy with fatigue, Elda didn't wake even when the templar's clacking armor surrounded them, or when the dogs let loose awful snarls and snapped at them as though they were nothing more than venison. Shuffling embers into his helmet, Greagoir tossed the still burning coals on top of their sleeping form.

Elda's eyes snapped open, and she shrieked in pain when the burning ashes landed on her exposed flesh. Immediately, she shoved away from Zevran and on her back, dusting herself off when someone plunged their greasy fingers into her hair and yanked her backwards. She stumbled over the ground, clawing at the nails that dug into her scalp and pulled on the roots of her hair. Greagoir's heavy boot came down on Zevran's stomach before he could even move, crushing his aching ribs.

"Foolish of you to stop and camp so close to the tower. It only took a few hours to catch up with you," Greagoir remarked sadly, eyes trained on the mage rather than the Antivan.

"I'd like to see you do better," Elda growled. "But then, you've never been on the other side of the sword, have you?"

Greagoir increased the pressure on Zevran's ribs, making him gasp out a few curses. His foot was directly on the wounded spot, she noted. There was no doubt in her mind who had caused those awful bruises. A burning anger ripped through her. The hissing of a sword released from its sheath cut the air in that moment, though, and brought her back from her thoughts. The weapon gleamed menacingly in the dim, morning light, the smell of metal and blood on the wind. Everything about the templars was blinding. Their armor reflected the glory of the sun, their faces covered by indifferent helmets. They were the perfect executioners, indifferent and just. Only Greagoir seemed out of place with the malicious sneer on his face. Her eye lingered on the blade, and she had no doubt in her mind what he intended to do.

_"They ran him through and left him for dead."_

"For your crimes, Maleficar, you deserve only death. I will be happy to give it to you after all the grief in the tower you caused me," he said, glancing first at the sword and then at her. She narrowed her eyes and shook her head in pity.

"It was you, don't you remember, that caused me trouble in the tower," she whispered more to herself than to him. She raised her chin and glared at him. "You were the one who asked him to escort me around the tower, knowing what he was, what he'd done to that little boy. It was you who left me in the care of that pederast!"

"Silence! Jocobe didn't know what he was doing; he was a young boy. It was because of you that he was sentenced to death," he snarled.

"Because of me?" she cried, indignant. "Are you so much of an arrogant, self-righteous worm that you can't admit that it was your doing? What did I do to deserve that? Was I born with a little too much beauty?"

"You were born with the wildness of an elf, and the impudent nature of a Dalish," he hissed.

"You should have never snatched me from the my clan; that was not your place, Greagoir," she said quietly, a steely glint coming into her eyes. "And I'm done taking orders from you." Her eyes flew to Zevran, and she nodded once quickly. In a split second, both of his hands grabbed hold of Greagoir's boot and yanked on it, sending the heavy templar toppling over. She whipped around despite the hold on her hair and smashed her elbow into the metal face plate of the man behind three times until blood trickled down his neck and oozed from the cracks in his helmet. Removing his hand from her hair, she danced past his clumsy blows and latched onto the large, black maul thrown across his back. Barely able to lift it, she swung the heavy thing into his back and heard the distinct snap of his spine.

Greagoir was on his feet, the dogs leaping on Zevran in an instant as the panicked templars dropped their leashes. The Knight-Commander rushed forward, face twisted in a menacing scowl, sword at the ready, but Elda, arms burning, swung the heavy, spiked maul around and hit him square in the chest. For a moment, there was a pause in time itself, during which she watched his eyes go wide and the blood spurt from his mouth, spattering her face with flecks of rubies. She tasted it in her mouth, the tip of his sword piercing the delicate flesh of her belly with a soft pop. His heart was crushed, she knew this the instant he fell to his knees. There was no way he was going to live. She'd killed him.

The light left his eyes, the black, cold things going darker to match the twisted state of his soul. She stared at the maul, heavily stained with blood and bits of flesh from previous kills. Oghren's had looked much the same. She dropped the weapon in disgust, staring at her shaking hands. A sharp pain shocked her entire body, and she was the next one to fall to her knees, fingers plugging up the hole in her stomach and blood spilled forth over her delicate fingertips.

A dog whined distantly. Her vision was going blurry. The puncture was deep, too deep. Templar influence had her unable to summon mana. She was absently away that she had fallen to the ground, torso at an odd angle, wrist by her nose, staring into the vacant eyes of a dead man. A deep, rich voice called her name.

* * *

**My grandfather has just had open-heart surgery and my mom is going to get back surgery in a few weeks. I've been busy, but this is up anyway. Thank you for your patience. With all this family stuff, I'm not sure when the next one will be.**


	25. Home

**Title: Snow and Ice**

**Rating: Mature**

**Warnings: Sexual content, minor language, violence, blood, use of alcohol**

**Summary: Once upon a time, a maleficar had stopped the blight. Afterwards, she'd left for the colder North, leaving love for a life of loneliness and wandering. No one was to look for her. So why was Alistair calling her back? Zev/Surana**

**Author's Note: Thank you for reading. Review please.**

* * *

Chapter 25

For some reason, she knew she was dreaming. The pain in her stomach was real, the faint pulsing of twisting nerves and a fire burning there, but it seemed so distant. Obviously, her mind was trying to block it out, focusing on the scene before her. The sky was painted red like blood, a cacophony of drums filling the sweet spring air as the fire before her crackled loudly, snapping and popping as it burned the iron bark effortlessly. She was staring at her hands which were covered in paint as white as snow. Someone was standing next to her, whispering sweet words in her ear that sounded like Dalish. A finger touched her cheek, drawing with paint that smelled of earth on her face, following the pattern of the lacing tattoo just beneath her eye.

The person was a woman, soft and sleek and glowing with life. With the pad of her thumb, she caressed Elda's eyelids with the paint, drawing it downwards. Her lips were painted white, a single red line passing through the middle of her bottom lip. Moist limbs danced around her, plump breasts spilling out of silk robes and a soprano voice whispering in her ear.

"Dance with me," she seemed to sing over and over. Elda glanced up and realized in that instant that she was not dreaming, but remembering. Warm, calloused hands took her own and lead her to the circle surrounding the fire. She knew the smell of this young woman holding her close and forcing her to sway to the gentle beat of the drum. Ferias's slim figure stood on the sidelines with a lovely, pale thing in his arms. All the while his eyes were trained on her and her swollen belly. He smiled encouragingly, and Elda remembered at once who was teasing her so. Vrinda, Ferias's sister, was in love with her and had been since she'd shown up.

She was twirled around, a bloodied cry escaping from the hunters' lips all at once. Vrinda was a hunter, a powerful predator with gray eyes and a sharp smile. The Dalish's hands cradled her bulging belly, dancing so carefully one would think it was her baby inside of there. Elda immediately lost herself in the music, listening to high pitched keening of the clan as they sung the old song. The moon hung heavy in the clouds above the trees, blessing their hunt for tomorrow. Paint was smeared and tattoos were given, markings to show who was a hunter and who was not, dividing experienced from amateur, young from old. Ferias disappeared with his young thing into the trees as many others did. The halla stamped their feet and threw back their heads; some clashed against one another like beasts enthralled by the music, adding to the chaos of the night like thunder does to a storm.

When the music finally stopped, Vrinda captured her lips in a painted kiss and stepped back. Tilanai held up a hand, and all became quiet instantly. Even the halla stopped their noise. In her hands was a bowl filled with blue liquid Elda immediately recognized as crushed Andraste's Grace, the smell pungent and delightful. Tilanai's accented voice cut the air.

"Creators bless the hunters tomorrow that go North to seek the wolves," she chanted, approaching Elda. The others echoed her. "Creators bless the hunt and guide the arrows of those who do not yet know what it means to take precious life for their own." She reached into the bowl and pulled out her hand. It dripped with the blue paste. Her smile became soft, the crinkles around her eyes more visible. "Creators welcome into our clan our long lost sister, stolen from us by the shemlen so long ago, but home at last, and with a daughter on the way. Though she runs from something we do not understand, a world we do not know, we envelope her into our arms as though she were never plucked from her mother's grasp. We welcome you home, Elda Surana." Her palm was pressed against Elda's stomach, and the baby gave a soft kick. Tilanai embraced her.

"Thank you, sister."

* * *

Arguing outside the tent. The smell of sap and trees and a fire. Animal fur on top of her and tentative fingers pressing against her hair. These things were too real to be a dream, and yet she was leery of them. She opened her eyes one at a time, blinking back the burning sensation as pure sunlight stabbed at her corneas. Grey eyes stared down at her, and she shot forward, knocking her skull against the other person's.

"Easy, Elda!" a familiar, warm voice said, gently easing her down by the shoulders. A sharp pain shot through her middle, the burning of nerve-endings back with full force as though angry at being forgotten. Immediately memories from the battle rushed back, leaving her slightly light headed. Greagoir's sword had pierced the fleshy part of her lower belly at least two inches. Either the pain or the blood or the fatigue or all three had forced her to her knees, and then she'd passed out. Lifting up the furs thrown across her body, she saw the hardened sap and healing poultice firmly taped across her wound and around her back with silk bandages.

She glanced up. "Vrinda?" she chirped in surprise, blinking a few times. It wasn't a dream this time. There Vrinda sat in the aravel, her dark hair tied back, shining black tattoos stark against the palor of her skin. Holding her hand, a smile on her face, her old friend was there looking expectant. The arguing outside increased in volume suddenly, and both voices she recognized at last.

"Zevran and Ferias? What are they arguing about?" she demanded, sitting up again, and this time swiping at the hands that wanted to force her down. Vrinda gave up and frowned.

"Men! The dark elf brought you here to us in an awful state. Severely wounded. Ferias is furious. He accuses the man of harming you," Vrinda shrugged. "It's just jealousy, though. That man knows you as a lover, and so Ferias doesn't like him."

"Idiots," Elda muttered, but she couldn't help smiling. Just to hear Ferias's voice was a blessing in and of itself, regardless of how cruel or foolish he was being. To hear someone speak about him was nice. Elda pressed a hand to her forehead, feeling the pulsing pain in her skull acutely, and stepping down off the bed.

Vrinda was there in an instant. "No! You can't get up yet. It's only been a day since you were wounded."

"I'm fine," Elda muttered, arm going about her waist as if to prevent her guts from spilling forth. It certainly felt as though they could. The pain was torturous, but there was no time to linger. Greagoir was dead, a Knight-Commander despite how horrible a person he had been. There would be a price to pay for such an act, and the miscreants of the chantry were not above sacking a Dalish settlement to find maleficarum. She needed to perform the ritual quickly, gather supplies, and be on her way with Zevran in tow if at all possible. They'd wasted enough time.

Lifting the animal skin veil that separated the dark aravel from the brightness of the world, she was careful in descending the stairs. Each step tugged on her wound and brought a dizziness with it. Shielding her eyes, she was suddenly aware that the arguing had stopped abruptly. Ferias was there, his black hair cropped short much like Zevran's, a few crinkles around his eyes, the fierceness of his eyes darkened slightly with worry for her. Years had not lessened the intensity of his gaze, though, and she still felt chills run down her spine when he looked at her with something other than casual concern for a sister of the clan. Tribal and elegant were his new markings, circling his eyes and curling underneath his armor. They were bold and black and impressive. The shape of his mouth, lips full for a man, sensual and strong. His chin was chiseled hard, nose slightly crooked as though it had been broken a few more times. He also bore the scars of a warrior rather than a mage. He looked so like his sister.

While Zevran was immediately overcome with worry, Ferias only grinned at her and hugged her gently. "Ferias, how I missed you."

"Just as I missed you, Elda. How could you leave us for so long?" he stepped back, hands still on her shoulders, giving her an appraising look. "Much has changed, but you are still the same."

She patted his arm. "The years have been kind to you. Handsome as ever, my friend. It seems to me as though very little has changed." Zevran met her eyes, and he nodded once, standing with his arms folded. The shadow of a bruise beneath his jaw was almost gone. "If we could, Zevran and I need to speak to Tilanai."

"Tilanai is dead," Ferias answered, drawing her attention back to him. "I am keeper now."

Vrinda came out of the aravel, brushing a bit of hair from her eyes with an unhappy expression on her face. She handed Elda her staff. "Your robes were stained with blood. When we had to heal you, your robes were damaged nearly beyond repair. They can't be fixed. I'm sorry."

A sharp pain ripped through her. Those robes had been hers since the Blight. When she had so few material possessions in the first place, it hurt to lose even the most insignificant thing. Ferias put a hand on her arm. "We do, however, still have the chest you left with us before departing in the middle of the night. No warning." It was a question and an accusation. Both of which she decided she would answer to later.

"I have some things I need to discuss with you, Ferias. Important things. And I'd like to see this chest, if I may. Unfortunately, this isn't just a social visit," she said, stepping back so that his hands fell from her arms.

Ferias nodded, a hardness coming into his eyes. "Yes, this Antivan has explained it to us. You are being hunted by the tower."

Zevran stepped up. "Greagoir is dead. He died shortly after he stabbed you. I carried you here to this Dalish Camp after taking care of the rest. You were bleeding badly, and the clan was not welcoming of me until they saw you in my arms."

"I recognized that array of tattoos anywhere," Vrinda said. "It took a couple hours to close up the wound with what little healing magic Ferias possesses. A poultice and some healing sap, we were certain you would live. You've suffered internal damage, though, so don't strain yourself. You shouldn't be walking, actually."

Elda swallowed; talking about the wound was just reminding her of the constant pain throbbing up and down the length of her stomach. "We don't have any time to waste. My daughter has been kidnapped by a bloodmage, and I need someplace safe to call up a demon so that I can learn her location. With both the royal family after me and the tower, I didn't have any other options but to come here."

"Not to mention that if you hadn't come here, you'd most likely be dead anyway," Ferias added thoughtfully. He put a hand on her shoulder. "You are welcome among us, of course, and we will help you in any way we can."

She sighed with relief. "Thank you, brother," she said softly. "If it is at all possible, I would like to see this chest as soon as possible. My old robes are in there no doubt."

"You're in no condition to be walking around and lugging that thing back and forth. I will get it for you," Vrinda said. She marched off at once in the direction of the halla pens.

Ferias glanced at Zevran and then back to Elda. "Well, it has been a trying journey for sure. I will leave you two a moment to yourselves while I explain to the rest of the clan what has taken place. They were very worried for you." He eyed her in particular. "It would be kind of you to go around and embrace your old clan. We've all missed you." With a kiss on her cheek, he departed.

Elda let out a tense breath she hadn't been aware he was holding and put a hand on her wound. It was still pulsing with tenderness, the area no doubt red and angrily swollen. She glanced up at Zevran, and in a flash, he had gathered her into his arms.

The camp was swarming with busy clan members. Halla were bleating absently in the background, even the crackle of the fire a lullaby to her. It was nothing like the tower, nothing like the enclosing space of the castle. This wasn't Denerim or the tower or Redcliffe or the frozen wastes of the North. It was home; it was exquisite. She had missed it too much.

"Welcome home, lethallan," Zevran whispered in her ear.

* * *

**So if you read "So Happy I Could Cry" then you know that someone has stolen my flash drive. Luckily, I was able to find a previously saved file backed up on my laptop so I didn't have to start on this chapter all over again. I've also purchased a new flash drive so I'll be able to continue writing when I'm not at home as before. Nothing should change. Thanks for your patience, but I'm having a lot of family problems right now. Just as before, the next one could be tomorrow or it could be next month. Sorry in advance if that does happen. Thank you for reading. Review please.**


	26. Speculation

**Title: Snow and Ice**

**Rating: Mature**

**Warnings: Sexual content, minor language, violence, blood, use of alcohol**

**Summary: Once upon a time, a maleficar had stopped the blight. Afterwards, she'd left for the colder North, leaving love for a life of loneliness and wandering. No one was to look for her. So why was Alistair calling her back? Zev/Surana**

**Author's Note: Thank you for reading. Review please.**

* * *

Chapter 26

Elda tossed her robes on the fire as soon as she saw their ragged state. Torn apart and sewn back together again, the clothing was no longer recognizable. The cloth had been old, she reasoned as she watched the fire destroy the garment, and it wouldn't have lasted much longer anyway. Vrinda was quick with bringing the trunk. Though it didn't look heavy, Elda was sure she wouldn't have been able to lift it from the arravel and into the sunlight. With Zevran's help, she managed to bend down and open the rusted latches.

Vrinda touched her shoulder. "We kept them nice for you. Ferias always had them in his arravel where they could stay dry and clean."

With a smile, Elda lifted off the black wool blanket that protected her various, breakable things. Her hands touched soft leather and silk. A pair of worn, black gloves easily fit her hands as she slipped them on over her ringed fingers. She only wished that she could feel the comfortable leather on both hands instead of just one. Next, and she laughed as she lifted it out, was a mage's robe of the highest quality. Even Zevran recognized it.

"Reaper's vestments," he muttered, touching the dark blue cloth. "Alistair was absolutely furious when you bought this, do you remember? So many sovereigns."

"Yes," she nodded. Laying the robe down, she bent to scrape up an old amulet.

"Ah, now this I do remember. From the tower, is it not?" he said, putting the red gem in his palm and feeling its warmth. It pulsed almost as if he held a human heart. "Or maybe I do not." He flipped it over, reading the inscription on the back.

"Lifedrinker," she whispered, a fondness for the necklace overcoming her suddenly. "I got it on the mountain. With the dragons."

"What a horrible little device," Zevran snorted. "You actually wore this around your neck?"

"Yes," she answered a bit defiantly. "Speaking of that…" Plucking it from his grasp, she pulled his amulet from around her neck carefully so as not to rip the stitches and put it in his hand. The stone was warm from sitting against her chest, designed and enchanted specifically to add to stealth. She closed his fingers around it before fastening Lifedrinker about her collar. "Not that I don't like wearing your jewelry," she said by way of apology.

"Oh, I understand," he smirked. "That leeching gem is much better."

Ignoring him, she continued to rummage through her various things. In a small pouch made of wolf fur and skin, three hollow needles glittered up at her. The ink in the vials had long ago dried up, unsealed as permanently as they had been at the castle.

A pair of brown black were folded in the bottom, thick and lined with fur. She pulled them out and slipped them on. They fit much better than the mud-crusted cloth shoes she'd been wearing.

"There's this, as well," Vrinda said, capturing her attention. Elda glanced up, hand going out immediately to take the long, curving bow handed to her. Made of pure ironbark and decorated with various designs and engravings, it was truly a beautiful piece of Dalish art. Ferias had made it for her, a craftsman as well as a mage. Her initials were burned into the bottom, the weapon fitting effortlessly into her hands. The feel of the bark was smooth, familiar. Ferias had intentionally made it lightweight as for a novice. Not a single inch of it was damaged. Even the string was still just as pure white and brand new.

"I thought I gave this to you, Vrinda. Before I left—" she started, but Vrinda cut her off with an upheld hand.

"Our people always come back. Ferias made this for you, not me. It will always be yours," she answered with a smile.

Elda thanked her quietly. Then, she looked at Zevran. "Even with all this gear, my archdemon hunting gear, I'm not sure I'll be able to kill her. Not if she has Rinna hostage."

He took her hand. "We slew the archdemon in less than a half an hour. We've killed high dragons and Flemeth herself, the most powerful witch in the world. Together we can kill this novice, this fledgling, Alaeze."

"I hope so."

The wind gave a sudden heave, tousling her hair.

Vrinda, biting her lip, spoke. "Maybe it is time you two told us just what you are hunting, and why this mage has your daughter."

Elda hesitated. She didn't, under any circumstances, want to put the clan in danger. Aid from the clan would definitely make winning easier, but endangering the rest of her family seemed like a betrayal, especially because she had been the one to make such a mistake. Zevran put a reassuring arm around her shoulders and forced her to meet his eyes. He nodded.

"Okay," Elda whispered. "Please, get Ferias and come by the fire. I'll tell you, but only you and Ferias. I don't want the rest of the clan in danger."

* * *

Vrinda looked thoughtful, her slender limbs across her knees, hands folded between her legs. The fire gave her dark skin a warm glow, accenting all of her lovely features. Elda had forgotten just how beautiful her old friend had been. With her hair pulled back, the wild Dalish elf had a more tamed look. The vines and tattoos across her face marked her as a Dalish, though, and no one would dispute it.

Ferias was scratching absently at the stubble on his face, lost in thought, too. Suddenly, he said, "Just how old is this fledgling? You make her sound so young."

"She appears to be about my age, but her manner is that of a child. I think—but I may be wrong—I think she is using a charm. The way she moves," Elda mused, "it's odd. Coordinated, but amateurish. Her immaturity suggests to me that she is simply cloaking herself with that shield. She's a very talented mage."

"How old do you think she is?" Vrinda asked, intrigued.

"Sixteen, maybe younger. She said she was trained rigorously in preparation for finding and eliminating me. Six years ago, she would have been ten or eleven. Still a child even in the Crows," she replied.

"Children are branded at birth," Zevran mumbled. "At ten or eleven she would have been introduced to her first master depending on when exactly she was bought. Children must be broken first before they can be owned. This is easily done, but children aren't assigned to masters in ordinary cases until their ninth birthday, sometimes later."

"But she must have shown great promise to be chosen for the important task of assassinating the Hero of Ferelden," Vrinda argued.

"Not necessarily," he countered. "There is a high possibility that she was chosen _because _she was young and amateurish. This is nothing but a game to the Crows. As you've seen, contracts can be passed down. It is not uncommon for us to wait until the target becomes old or even sickly to try again if the first attack has failed. Her masters might have been using this as motivation to improve her skills."

"It doesn't matter how old she is," Ferias decided. "Her skill is undeniable if she was able to not only pull you to the Fade, on the same island as her no less, but also throw you back into your body while you were projecting. She is a dangerous opponent."

"She's unstable," Elda said to him. "She bleeds power and potential, unable to control it. That can work to my advantage."

"It might," he considered. "Don't underestimate her, though. She seems to harbor a deep hatred for you. Perhaps she blames you for the torture and preparation she went through."

"I certainly would," Vrinda snorted, tucking a hair behind her delicately pointed ear. "Alaeze seems like she can be dealt with."

Ferias grunted. "I have no doubts as to Elda's ability to kill this mageling. I am concerned for her child, though. What must she be going through?"

Zevran glared at him.

"She's still alive," Elda assured him, placing a hand on Zevran's arm. "I'm her mother. If she were dead, I would know it. We've shared blood. Mages can sense one another. She's alive."

"I believe you," Ferias said, spreading his hands. "There's no reason for Alaeze to kill her. If she knows you as well as she says she does, then she would know you would not go after her blindly out of grief. You're not that emotional. Perhaps a desire for revenge would come later, but if Rinna were to die, you would feel as though you had no reason to go after her, would you?"

"I would want revenge," Elda declare darkly, "but you are right. If she killed Rinna, I would stop and decide the best way to pay her back. I wouldn't risk my life for an unsure thing. When I went after her, and rest assured I would, it would be with a plan to tear her limb from limb and keep her alive while I did it."

Vrinda shivered in the wind. "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

Ferias patted her arm, then glanced over at the two of them. "I want to know more about this demon, Ikilai. I feel as though I've heard that name before, and I have a few theories to share with you. If you would hear them?"

Briefly but in as great a detail as she could, Elda outlined each of her encounters with Ikilai in both the Fade and the tower.

Thoughtful again, Ferias was quiet.

"What an awful thing to be tracked by a demon," Vrinda exclaimed. "I wonder just what it wants from you."

Ferias tapped a finger to his mouth. "I think it's a time-turning demon."

"What?" asked Zevran, having never heard the name before.

"What?" asked Elda, skeptical.

"They're demons that can predict the future. They find mages as soon as they are born and latch onto them, following them throughout their life. The person they choose is someone who regrets the path their life has taken and wants to change it. When life becomes an all-consuming darkness, the demon shows himself and makes an offer. What would you give to throw back time, to redo a part of your past knowing what you know now? The price is usually very steep, half their life-span or all their powers," Ferias explained. "The demon becomes more powerful with each sealed contract, until it becomes powerful enough to escape from the Fade altogether and take on human form."

"I know what it is," Elda snapped. "I've read the old Tevinter texts. They don't exist, these demons. Ikilai is nothing by an overzealous pride demon. Nothing more."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Ferias warned. "You are powerful, and many demons are attracted to you. Not only that, but you have many regrets in your past. There is much to lose in the coming days. Would you be so quick to dismiss it when it fits so well?"

"He has a point," Vrinda said. "Would it be so bad to assume this is what Ikilai is and be wary of future dealings?"

"I won't be having anymore dealings with him," Elda said. "I'm going to use him to help me track down Alaeze. He and I have no further business."

"That time in the tower," Zevran said thoughtfully. "He actually materialized in your room. You said he was running his hands all over your body." He looked at Ferias. "Is that common behavior for one of your time-turning demons?"

"Yes," Ferias nodded. "They treat the mages they've chosen as property, sometimes even as lovers, haunting dreams and the like. It helps to convince the mages to trust them. You are more likely to trust a demon you've seen all your life than one you've never seen before, aren't you?"

"Nonsense!" Elda stood up abruptly. "I never saw Ikilai when I was younger."

"You throw up impressive walls," Ferias said gently, gesturing with his hand for her to sit down. "You've always been able to shield your mind well. That is why you make the perfect bloodmage. At night, you can close your eyes, throw up the wall, and wait until it is over."

Before she could reply, Vrinda cut in. "_If _it is true," she murmured tentatively, glancing at the both of them meaningfully, "it doesn't bode well for the future, does it? I mean, he must know something awful is going to happen. So awful that she will want to 'throw back time'."

_What would you give to throw back time, to redo a part of your past knowing what you know now?_

Elda buried her head in her hands. It was all too much to take in, coupled with the fact that she was wounded, exhausted, and her daughter was still missing and in terrible danger. She leaned against Zevran's warm body. The sweet smell of burning wood and his musk made her almost dizzy with fatigue, but she managed to keep her eyes open. Zevran threw an arm around her shoulders and spoke with the two Dalish elves for a little while longer. They even once drifted off into such mundane conversation as the weather. She closed her eyes and listened to the vibrations of Vrinda's soprano voice, Ferias's deep bass, and felt the rumbling through Zevran's skin.

Sooner than she would have liked, someone was shaking her awake.

"If I must kiss you awake, I will," said a tinkling voice that was most definitely not Zevran's.

"Stop it, Vrinda," Elda moaned. "I want to sleep."

"Beneath the stars in this cold?" she asked in mock horror. "I myself love the night, but you'll freeze to death. Come on, your paramour has gone off with my brother in the woods to make sweet love. I suggest you and I do the same." Her giggle was like breaking china.

She couldn't help it. Elda chuckled and opened an eye. "Only if you hold me afterward," she groaned, sitting up on the log bench where she'd fallen asleep.

"Done, my sweet," Vrinda promised immediately, grabbing her face with both hands and kissing her plump lips. "Come on. The wounded must be taken care of."

The tired elf allowed her friend to pull her toward the arravel on the other side of camp where she'd woken up. Red streaked the sky crimson as the sun slowly sunk below the horizon, splashing lush pinks across the expansive area above as it became darker and darker. A few hunters loitered about. The smell of food was in the air, but Elda wasn't hungry in the slightest. In fact, she felt a bit sick. All the children had gone to bed, it seemed, as she couldn't spot a single one around the camp. Of course, Ferias's clan had never had many children to begin with.

"So where have Zevran and Ferias really gone?" Elda asked.

"The halla are acting up, and Ferias is helping Khana out with them," she replied. "It's strange. They only ever act this way before a storm, but the sky is clear. As for Zevran, he snuck off into the woods about an hour ago."

"Why?"

"Practice? A bath? Why would I know?"

"You were awake."

They passed by the halla pen on the way to the arravel, and Elda almost cringed. Two of the very large males were fighting, clashing their ebony horns against one another and twisting. The females were in a horrible state, shrieking almost and stomping the ground. Khana was there with her pale white hands held up in supplication, trying to calm them down. Her black hair was wild in the sudden wind, and Elda immediately felt a sense of foreboding. Something dark and flavorful was in the air. Refusing to move, she managed to coax Vrinda to a halt.

"What is it?" Vrinda asked, dropping her bony wrist and coming up beside her. The mage stood transfixed, staring at the halla pen, almost frozen with fear.

"There's something wrong," Elda whispered. "Can you smell that?"

Confused, Vrinda tentatively sniffed the air. "I don't smell anything. Why? What is it?"

"Smoke."

* * *

**Okay *cracks knuckles* no more running around pointlessly in the woods. Let's get this storyline going.**

**Does arravel have one R or two? Anyone know? Thanks for reading. Review please.**


	27. Revenge

**Title: Snow and Ice**

**Rating: Mature**

**Warnings: Sexual content, minor language, violence, blood, use of alcohol**

**Summary: Once upon a time, a maleficar had stopped the blight. Afterwards, she'd left for the colder North, leaving love for a life of loneliness and wandering. No one was to look for her. So why was Alistair calling her back? Zev/Surana**

**Author's Note: Thank you for reading. Review please.**

* * *

_When your whole world comes undone,_

_let me be the one to say_

_I'm not Jesus, you can't run away._

_-I'm not Jesus, _Apocalyptica

Chapter 27

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Grabbing her harshly by the shoulders, Elda shook Vrinda. "Where is my staff?"

"By the aravel," she answered, still frozen. Confusion and fear mixed in her big dark eyes. "What do you mean 'smoke'?"

Elda was already running toward the aravel. The sense of foreboding was growing, and she swore that the scent of magic was in the air. Mana stretched over the clearing like a translucent cloud ready to devour them all, and as she was running the halla grew louder in their panic. Pain twisted in her side, but she had to get to her staff before the fighting started. And she knew that the fighting would start soon. There was an indistinguishable personalization in the mana, almost like a message inscribed in the very fabric of it. Alaeze had grown tired of waiting.

Relief, as rich as any honey, flowed through her as she clasped a hand around the smoothed handle of her staff. Ferias's deep bass rang out over the camp suddenly. He must have felt it too. Wind rose like a tornado, ripping violently at the trees and invigorating the fire with pure oxygen. The tents flapped open, lightweight objects skidding across the clearing. A lamp hanging on one of the trees crashed to the ground, leaking a fair amount of oil onto the green grass.

"Assemble the hunters!" Ferias cried. Suddenly he was running toward her, jerking to a stop and flying into his aravel. Vrinda hesitated before running off on her own. The hunters were on patrol on the outskirts of the camp. It would take time to reach them. Time they didn't have. Elda cursed colorfully in her frustration and stabbed the end of her staff into the ground, hands going up over her head.

Ice-blue fog rose up around her fingertips, swirling as she summoned her mana. Controlling the weather was a bit like trying to reign in a wild horse. It jerked and turned and tried to throw the controller off, but through perseverance and power it could be tamed. Sweat broke out across her forehead as she mumbled words she'd learned in the old Tevinter texts. Ferias demanded to know what she was doing, cloaked in his battle robes and his own powerful staff thrown across his back, but she ignored him. Concentration was key.

Ghostly laughter rang out, tinkling like haunted bells. Figures, one by one, began to appear out of the storm. Each one was merely a smear of white as they emerged. First one, then two others. The first prompted a startled gasp from Ferias, and he yanked his staff from his back.

The wind was already beginning to die down when the white mist disappeared from Alaeze's thin body to reveal her plain face and torn robe. The shield that usually surrounded her had been shrunk from a ball to a sort of second skin, glowing and shaping to her body perfectly, almost like armor. The two others were both male, one extremely large human and the other a small elf. A single dagger was attached to the elf's waist, a bow between his large hands, ready to fire at any moment. The human was armed to the teeth with both a spiked maul across his back and a sword. Muscles ripped menacingly as he pulled the sword free and crouched. He seemed more protective of Alaeze than the other one, standing closer to her. Both of them had the same crow tattoo on their necks.

When the tearing breeze had died down enough into a sleepy turning of the wind, Elda wiped her forehead and grabbed her staff.

Alaeze stepped forward.

"I was beginning to worry that the annoying Templar had killed you after all," she said in a teasing voice. "But here you are! Whole and everything."

"Yes, here I am," Elda murmured quietly, eyeing the elf whose fingers seemed to twitch on the bow. She focused intently on Alaeze with a quick snap of her head. "Why are you here?"

The mageling grinned. With a flippant gesture of her hand, a tiny glowing orb appeared. It shone purple, much like the paint of her face, and floated toward the Elda and Ferias completely independently. Stopping just before them, the little ball of light began to expand. It grew into a tall thing, almost mirror-shaped and began to solidify. Confused, Elda peered closely at the oval as pictures and shapes moved beyond it. Sounds tumbled from the object, the distinguishable sound of a little girl crying.

Sitting in a corner of what looked to be a stony ruin, long abandoned by any civilization, was Rinna. She was both emaciated and dirty, yellow hair black with grease and dirt. Small hands were bruised and cut, the tiny legs sunburned, the cheeks red. Her angelic face was tear-stained and fatigued. Elda was sure she could make out one of those wretched collars around her neck. Just as soon as she got a glimpse of her little girl, the orb shrunk drastically and disappeared.

"I believe I have something of value to you," Alaeze declared smugly.

Elda shot out toward her, but hands caught hold of her shoulders in a steely grip. "You venom-dripping bitch! What have you done to my daughter?"

"Elda..." Ferias warned.

"Be grateful she's alive," Alaeze muttered plainly. "What a misbehaved child. Drahgos had to...teach her some manners." She gestured to the elf with a wag of her eyebrows.

Pure fury ripped through Elda, but before she could do anything something caught her eye. Movement in the bushes just beyond the marksman Drahgos's head gave her pause. It had been the flash of a blade, tanned skin.

She parted her mouth and gestured with her head to Ferias. "You're on Dalish property, mageling. The hunters will be here any moment."

Indignant, Alaeze made a disgusted sound. "'Mageling'? Your foolish little Dalish elves will be massacred by this mageling! I've destroyed two clans, and I can destroy this one just as easily."

Ferias snarled, "Not until I've gone off to the Creators."

Alaeze's eyes became dark. "Count on it."

Just then, a hand went over Drahgos's mouth, a blade coming up sleek and silently from the bushes and slicing his throat. Alaeze was still talking; the human wasn't paying attention, his eyes focused solely on the threat right in front of him. Blood poured down Drahgos's neck, soaking his shirt and armor. The boy didn't have time to scream or make any sort of noise as Zevran dug the blade deep into his trachea and snapped the bone, nearly tearing his head right off.

Swallowing thickly, almost in disgust, Elda tried not to give anything away. "You didn't answer my question, novice. Why are you here? To bargain? To fight? Why?"

Extending her hand to the side, Alaeze took another step forward, the human following suit. "Because I am tired of waiting. I would prefer to kill you now. Our...game has gone on long enough, don't you think?"

"I agree," Elda growled, taking a few steps forward. Ferias allowed her to go. "I'm ready to kill you, if you're ready to die." Sparks flew from the top of her staff for emphasis.

"Likewise," Alaeze grinned, eyes glazed. "There is one more thing, though. About the child..." The white, strange-looking staff from her back was in her hand in an instant.

"Yes?" They were only twenty feet apart.

"She's dead."

Zevran flew from the bushes in a blur of pure kinetic energy and surprise. The human reacted instantly, startled slightly. Hesitation was the only thing that prevented him from smashing Zevran's entire rib cage in with the huge maul he swung around. Missing him by mere inches, the swing sent the human back a few steps to try to recover his balance. Zevran ducked between his legs and slid right up behind Alaeze, the knife going straight to her throat. She stopped talking immediately, seized with fear and shock all at once. The emotions flickered across her plain face. Zevran whirled her around to act as a shield as the human prepared to swing again. The assassin pressed the knife against her delicate flesh for emphasis.

"You swing and your boss dies," he snarled.

Elda's entire stomach seemed to have fallen to her shoes. She felt sick. "Where is Rinna? What have you done with her?" she shouted.

Ferias grabbed her arm. "We need to-"

"Where is my daughter, you slut?" Elda demanded, pushing him off so roughly he actually fell to the ground. She marched over to them and hit Alaeze straight in the face with her staff. "Where is she?"

Alaeze gave a crooked smile, gums seeping blood. The knife had cut a little into the flesh of her neck, blood dribbling over Zevran's hand. He was steady while she trembled with anger. "Dead and buried as I said."

"Lies!" Elda snapped and hit her again.

"Hey," Zevran complained, eyes darting from her to the confused form of the human still standing there.

Taking a fistful of her hair, Elda turned her back on him, feeling the blood drain out of her face. It couldn't be true. Alaeze was lying. Of course she was lying.

But she wasn't, was she?

Why did it make sense to keep Rinna alive, again? Maybe Alaeze didn't know her as much as she thought she did. Maybe she did kill Rinna, hoping that Elda would strike back blindly in revenge. Bile rose in her throat. Muscles trembled. She felt her insides liquify and tears come into her eyes as she bent over and felt the vomit pass through her lips. Impossible, yet it wasn't.

It made perfect sense no matter how much it hurt.

In that moment everything seemed to become clear. Birds twittered in the trees. She could hear the soft breathing of her lover and her greatest enemy. Wind blew through the grass. Ferias was muttering soft curses under his breath. The hunters were gathering. She could hear it all. Then she went completely deaf, a hard, loud ringing in her ears.

Images flashed before her eyes: Rinna's first breath, her first smile, the smell of her, bloodied and wriggling and warm and irrefutably Elda's daughter, the tuft of blonde hair on her head that marked her as Zevran's child, the kicking in her stomach, the first few steps she took, walking on ice, the first sign of magic, her first words, growing teeth, crying and keeping Elda up all night, holding hands, carrying her, the sound of her fluttering heart, whispering soprano voice, images of her as a beautiful young adult. The way that Elda had dreamed she would grow up.

Voices, comments, screaming, crying, baying of wolves at night: all the sounds and sights of the past seemed to want to overwhelm her in that instant. She fell to her knees, feeling herself sob and cry but not being able to stop it. Rinna was dead. She felt it in the very pit of her stomach. Alaeze spoke the truth, only the truth. Why would she lie?

The very thought made her sick. The very thought that at one point in time Rinna could be there, reaching up with her stubby arms, breathing and _alive _and the next moment be gone. Just gone.

Zevran's grip around Alaeze's neck had weakened as he watched Elda break down. The mage in his arms took the opportunity to slip her leg between his legs and kick him in the groin. He groaned, falling back immediately as an unbearable and familiar pain shot upwards. Using the hard part of her elbow, Alaeze brought it down on his nose, the sound of bone breaking alerting Elda to the fight. Alaeze's foot shot out and delivered another blow to his stomach, actually kicking him off the ground and a few inches back. He rolled onto his back, but by that time she'd reached for her staff. The end was sharper than Elda's, coming to a point. It was coming at his face at an alarming speed.

Zevran rolled out of the way into a crouch. Alaeze let out a squeak of surprise as he grabbed her ankle and yanked her down. She fell, and he drew his blade, leaping on top of her. Bringing the knife down toward her throat, Zevran's intent was obvious but she caught his wrist just inches before it reached the flesh of her neck. She twisted his wrist and lurched forward so that their foreheads collided. Blood trickled down her nose as she wrestled with him.

Suddenly Elda was there. Long, sharpened fingernails dug into Alaeze's throat. The mage flailed, letting go of the knife handle and scratching rabidly at Elda's wrists. Elda was blind with fury. She drug the mageling back across the ground and up. Striking her in the chest with her left hand and adding enough mana to crush bones, Elda managed to shove Alaeze across the clearing and into a tree. She hit with a crack, ribs aching, the breath knocked out of her.

The human was charging, though, maul at the ready. He swung at her head, but Elda used her rogue skills and dodged out of the way, summoning fire in her left hand and leaping around behind him. Zevran was choking and coughing as he made his way toward Alaeze with his weapon drawn. Alaeze was awake and running for her staff, desperate and not at all as collected as she had been previously. Ignoring them, Elda made a jump for the human's back and locked onto him like a tiger might its prey. Her arms went about his neck, legs hooking around his waist as the fire rose from her body in waves of heat.

The human stumbled back, crying out through the crushed mess of his throat as she pressed harder and harder.

Alaeze dove for her staff in the last few feet, reaching it and throwing it up just in time to meet Zevran's dagger. Using the ground as leverage, she shoved him back and twisted, knocking his dagger away and swinging the staff around her head while he stumbled. The large, hooked end came around and smacked him in the stomach, sending him reeling backwards. The next attack landed on his head. While he was dazed, the dagger fell from his hands. He stumbled away, back hitting a tree and slumping to the ground. Blood dripped from the top of his head, stinging and hot in his eyes.

Alaeze threw her staff down. It was cracked in the middle, nearly useless. After picking up the dagger, she knelt in front of Zevran, putting a hand on his chest. Ice spread from her fingertips in the same way it had for Elda in the tower, crackling chunks freezing his body and making it useless. He tried to fight, but he was going numb. Everything was turning hazy and black.

Her lips were suddenly at his ear. "It's a shame," she whispered. "What a perfect family you would have been." The knife sank into his chest, blood gushing out over her pretty, white hands. He groaned, the pain like nothing he had ever experienced as the tip of the dagger grazed his heart and then sank deep. The desperate organ gave one more flutter, maybe two, before he slumped against the tree, lifeless.

The human fell to the ground, the fire already having melted his flesh to his bones. Nothing but a burned skeleton, he was most certainly dead. But the fire wasn't stopping. Emotions controlled magic, and Elda felt her feet shuffling forward in her fury, felt the flames lick at the trees and spread around her in a tornado of pain and suffering.

The hunters had arrived and Ferias was panting as he covered them all in a fireproof shield. Vrinda was crying out at her, but she couldn't see or hear anything past the haze of blood and Rinna's body so vivid in her mind. Alaeze was stumbling back, wounded with several broken ribs, and tired already. She was a novice if ever there was one.

Demons were springing forth from the ground, bubbling with blood and flames and echoing voices. Each one glided forward effortlessly towards Alaeze, claws outspread, laughing as she tried to summon any type of magic in her fear. But even her shield was beginning to fail her, the purple thing flickering and fading as the demons attacked with balls of fire and claws that scratched at her tender flesh.

She screamed, and Elda reveled in the sound.

"Stop," Elda commanded them, and the demons did, one by one glancing back and her and moving away in haste. She let the fire die around her, the burned grass and blackened trees a testament to what had gone on.

Walking among them was like wading through the crowds after she'd been made Hero of Ferelden. Each one bowed their strange heads, murmuring words in different languages. These were the demons that haunted her at night, taking her blood and her power for moments like the present. She didn't know their names, and she didn't want to. Pride, lust, greed, wrath, whatever type of demons they were, they were useful.

Alaeze was literally laying in a pool of her own blood, gurgling helplessly. One of them had struck her right across the stomach with their claws, crimson gushing across her pale skin and red face. The intestines were falling out, steam rising from the heat of her. Elda kneeled and touched her face gently, as a lover might.

"You should never have accepted this contract," she whispered.

"Wha...no...anger," Alaeze gasped, "for the...death of your...lover?" Her pale eyes drifted to the tree where Zevran was still speared, not breathing, cold.

Elda's eyes flashed, but she didn't look at the corpse. Not yet. "This is my anger. For everyone you've ever killed. You'll pay dearly for defying the Dalish. _Count on it._"

She stood and turned her back, walking away from the red demons, their heat nearly overwhelming. At the end of the long isle they formed, she took them in. She'd never called so many before. "Do what you will."

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**Told you. I don't want this to get any bigger than it already is. Don't worry, it's not over yet. There's still a lot left to write. Maybe three or four more chapters. **

**Thanks, apparently it's one r in aravel.**

**Appreciate your reading. Review please.**


	28. Ikilai

**Title: Snow and Ice**

**Rating: Mature**

**Warnings: Sexual content, minor language, violence, blood, use of alcohol**

**Summary: Once upon a time, a maleficar had stopped the blight. Afterwards, she'd left for the colder North, leaving love for a life of loneliness and wandering. No one was to look for her. So why was Alistair calling her back? Zev/Surana**

**Author's Note: Thank you for reading. Review please.**

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_In my darkest hours I could not foresee_

_That the tide could turn so fast to this degree_

_Can't believe my eyes_

_How can you be so blind?_

_Is the heart of stone, no empathy inside?_

_-Our Solemn Hour_, Within Temptation

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Chapter 28

Loud, echoing laughter erupted from the demons, a cacophony of phantom noises that put a chill in the air. Alaeze dug her hands into the earth languidly, trying to move away from them. At best they would eat her alive. At worst, they would take her to the Fade to torture for all eternity. Elda didn't care anymore. As they descended like jackals, she walked slowly to Zevran's corpse and sank to her knees.

The knife was embedded deep within his chest, buried to the hilt and all the way to the other side. No signs of life were visible at all. Even his face has lost all color, the decay already setting in. A choked sob escaped her chest as she looked at him. A hand flew to her mouth as she glanced away and back again, face twisted in agony. Ferias met her eyes, face grave. He was dead. There was no doubt.

With trembling fingers she curled her hand around the hilt of the dagger and pulled it out, tossing it to the side. More blood spilled from the gaping wound, and she bowed her head, sucking in sharp gasps of breath. Sinking her teeth into her bottom lips, she mentally scolded herself. How many times had she toyed with dead bodies? How many times had she seen them? What was so different about this one?

_Because it's Zevran._

Something snapped in her as hot, salty tears spilled from her eyes. She scooted forward over the dirt and cupped his face with her hands. "Come on, Zev," she whispered. "She's gone now. You can wake up. Wake up." She shook him, but he didn't move.

Elda moved a bit of hair out of his face and shook him harder. "Zevran! This isn't funny, you know. Wake up! We've got to...we've got to save," she cut off with a choked sob and buried her face into his chest, the blood smearing across her left eye. Her head snapped up. "Wake up, damn you! I won't put up with this! You can't—You can't leave me! You can't...not again!" she was screaming at him.

Ferias began to walk toward her across the burned expanse of camp. The non-hunters of the clan were coming out of tents and hiding places. The smoke was nearly overwhelming as the last of the demons dispersed and faded into black piles of ash in the ground. Only a bloodied puddle of Alaeze was left where she had been lying.

"Please," Elda whispered. She shifted her hand behind his neck and moved him forward, crushing his head to her chest. Slowly, she began to rock him back and forth. "Everything was...going to be so perfect. You can't be gone. Not you, too."

Ferias paused above her before crouching and gently laying a hand on her shoulder. "Elda, maybe we should get you cleaned up. Move the...the body."

"No!" she snapped at him. "Zevran has to wake up first. He's _going _to wake up."

Trying to be as gentle as possible, Ferias cleared his throat. "You've...seen more death than I have. You know what it looks like. He's...he's not coming back, Elda. He's gone."

Violently she shook her head. "He can't be...can't be gone." Her voice broke on the last word.

Behind her, Ferias gestured for Vrinda and the other hunters to come closer. He patted her shoulder. "Come on. You're covered in blood and ash."

"What does that matter?" she demanded softly. "What does that matter now? When I've lost everything? Everything I've ever cared about." Salty tears spilled over into his hair. His heart was never going to beat again. He'd never make another perverted joke or kiss her or make love to her again.

Vrinda fell down beside her and wrapped her arms around both Zevran's corpse and Elda's shoulders. "We're here, Elda. We're here with you." She was crying herself. The three of them rocked together, beautiful Vrinda with her dark eyes and hair, Elda with her strangely sharp features and bloodied, bruised skin, and the paleness of Zevran, yellow hair tinged with blood and gone forever. What a trio they made.

Ferias was whispering to the hunters. One of the darker-skinned ones nodded. He tapped Vrinda on the shoulder until she looked up and understanding flooded her eyes. They had to get the body away from her before she could be tempted with necromancy. Elda was already whispering nonsense against his hair, a mixture of Tevinter and Dalish.

"Lethallan, you must let go of the body now," Vrinda whispered against her ear, hands attempting unwind Elda's arms. Elda only held on tighter. The hunter glanced up at Ferias and shook her head. "All at once, like removing an arrow."

They understood.

Ferias slipped his arms around her waist while the hunters held onto the body. Vrinda braced an forearm against Elda's chest and all at once they pulled them apart. Elda immediately fought against them.

"No!" she screamed frantically, reaching out for him. "He's not dead, don't you understand? I can bring him back. I can bring him...he's not dead!" Hard nails dug into Ferias's arms, drawing blood. When she refused to walk, Vrinda ducked down and hugged her legs, standing up so that they were carrying her completely off the ground. She twisted and reached out, but they were pulling her away, the dark-skinned hunter closing Zevran's eyes respectfully and bowing his head. "Ferias, don't you understand? He's not _dead!_" she roared and lurched forward.

Ferias caught her around the waist and pulled her to him, feeling her sob against his shirt, the blood smearing against the soft cotton. "Shhh," he hushed her. "It's all right. We'll take care of you."

She hit him with her fist. "You can't take care of me!" The ash and blood had mingled with the tears so that it was nearly paint dripping down her face. "Zevran was supposed to do that!" she cried. "And I was supposed to take care of Rinna! Why do I...why do I always have to lose _everything_?" She punched him in the arm and stalked away before falling to the ground again. Pain shot up her leg, and she languidly reached to touch her ankle. It was swollen and bruised, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the torment inside. In fact, she preferred it. She slumped the rest of the way in a puddle of limbs, face pressed against the scorched earth. The ashes were still warm.

Distantly, she could hear Ferias and Vrinda talking. Plotting against her. But they didn't understand. The bond that she and Zevran had could never be broken. She could bring him back, and she knew just how to do it. Not with necromancy, no. That would be too easy, and besides the body would begin to decay. No, she was going to change everything. Ferias had given her the idea almost unconsciously earlier that day.

_When life becomes an all-consuming darkness, the demon shows himself and makes an offer._

She wasn't going to wait.

_What would you give to throw back time, to redo a part of your past knowing what you know now?_

She stared at her hand as though it were someone else's. The appendage was slowly coming closer to her face, and without even thinking about it, she sank her pointed teeth into the unfeeling flesh. Blood trickled immediately from the wound and welled in her mouth, hot and salty and disgusting. Familiar, it tasted of her humanity, her mortality. The scent of pungent and powerful magic filled the air.

As drops of blood fell to collect in the ashes, a red smoke drifted about her as though dust coming off the liquid. She was bleeding in earnest then, but she bit down harder, breaking more blood vessels in her hand and spitting the crimson mixture on the ground.

Vrinda cried out as soon as the rising red smoke caught her attention. Startled, Ferias began running toward her. He knew what she was doing. They both did. And she knew they'd try to stop her. She flung out her bloodied hand, whispering a spell under her breath, and suddenly Ferias ran into a wall. It was a wall made out of pure mana and laced with blood magic, nearly two miles long and completely impenetrable. She'd made the wall before during the fight with the archdemon. It was one of the reasons that Denerim was still standing. Electricity snapped between the thin walls, coalescing shadows of red and black blurring his view of her even as he cried out.

"Don't do it! The cost is too steep!" he screamed, throwing his fist against the shield.

"Elda, please!" Vrinda's dark eyes were pleading. "I know you're hurting. We all do. But you can't bring the dead back!"

With a trembling finger, she began to draw the pentagram, whispering more to herself those hissing words.

"Elda! Don't you see all that you'll lose? Your very powers, that which makes you a mage! Your life, you fool," Ferias roared, throwing all of his weight against the shield and being thrown back. "And you'd be releasing this entity on the world!"

"We won't know you anymore," Vrinda cried, tears in her eyes now. "Destroying the very fabric of time for your own needs! Please don't do this!"

But it was too late. Her finger paused over the last stroke of red, glancing back at them with something like regret and sadness in her eyes. "I have to do this," she whispered so low that she was sure they couldn't hear her. "I'm sorry." Hesitating only a moment, she connected the last two lines and felt the explosion of power deep within herself.

Thick, white fog flowed out of the pentagram almost immediately, swarming around her bowed form and caressing her like warm fingers. It was in her hair, trailing down her back, enveloping her. The white-hot lava that seemed to make up Ikilai's entire body came next, flooding the ground with its power. His presence almost choked her, and she was certain he'd been making other deals behind her back. But it didn't matter. She had already made up her mind. No matter the price, she would throw back time and set things right.

Folding in on itself and building up, bubbling from the very ground, Ikilai's shape began to take form. Slim waist, long, slender limbs, flawless white skin and startling blue eyes. White hair sprouted from his head. For some reason, he seemed even more magnificent. Vrinda gasped behind the shield, falling to the ground and crawling backward. Members from the clan were screaming. Ferias was begging her to close the pentagram quickly.

A wise smirk graced his lips, cocky as any human despite how old he was. When the last bit of mana had fallen into place, Ikilai crouched on the ground with his human legs and reached beyond the pentagram to touch her cheek. Where his thumb swiped, the cut on her face healed, disappearing completely when he pulled back. The same amount of pleasure and pain flooded through her. She only wished she could stand instead of sitting like a supplicating servant. There was nothing she could do about that, though. He ankle was most definitely twisted if not broken completely.

"You know what I want," she whispered to him, ignoring the pleas from behind her wall. Nothing mattered but him. Nothing mattered but seeing her daughter's face and holding Zevran again in her arms, warm and alive.

"You know the price," he hissed pleasantly, holding out his hand. Before he had seemed faded, weaker. Now he was completely whole and solid as any human being. For a moment, her mind wondered what he would do when he was free. She wondered at the price, but it was only for a moment. The second it came, it was gone.

His flesh was smooth and hard as she put her hand in his. The skin began to blister, but she couldn't feel it. With a smile on his perfect face, he stepped beyond the pentagram and put an arm around her waist, heaving her to him. The fire burst against her skin, heat and the smell of burning flesh in the air. She knew she had to endure it, though. His voice was whispering to her over and over again.

_My queen..._

_My queen..._

And the spilling lava on the ground shot up like tentacles come alive. One of them wrapped around her ankle, the other around her wrist. The same thing happened on the other side, a particularly large strip of white substance curling around her neck like a snake. She gasped, the pain almost unbearable as the substance wound up, sealing her legs together, covering every last bit of her with the goop. Though it wasn't burning her physically anymore, it felt like it was. She wanted to struggle and push it away, but there was nothing she could do. Besides that, Ikilai was reassuring her, whispering seductive things in her ear and dark promises in his husky voice.

_All of your powers will become mine, my queen, _he growled in her mind, thrilling at the thought. _A decade's hunt is at an end._

"Just do it," she spat before the substance clamped over her mouth, snaking upwards over her eyes as they widened in surprise.

_You will fall into the past, powerless creature._

She felt sick to her stomach, the pain fading into something different, a warm sort of pressure, but it was a strange sensation. It wasn't as if the pain had gone away, only that she had become stronger in facing it. Everything went dark as the last bit of white covered her eyes and hair. She was being lifted up, an explosion of lights and colors and sounds penetrating the veil of her mind to the point of madness.

_I will be reborn as a human in your world with the potential to end it._

The white was melting off her, falling to the ground with thick slaps as though she'd just cut loose venison from a hook. The sound was sickening, and she doubled over in mid-air, hands going about her waist, the sounds getting louder and louder to the point where she could barely hear Ikilai's taunting voice anymore.

_Change what you will, child. Live with the consequences._

Suddenly she was falling, but she couldn't open her eyes. Couldn't move.

_You will gain back what you have just lost, but in so doing you will lose everything._

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**Hmm..did you guess what was going to happen? Didja? Probably did. I wasn't very subtle, was I? Thanks for reading. Review please.**


	29. Another Chance

**Title: Snow and Ice**

**Rating: Mature**

**Warnings: Sexual content, minor language, violence, blood, use of alcohol**

**Summary: Once upon a time, a maleficar had stopped the blight. Afterwards, she'd left for the colder North, leaving love for a life of loneliness and wandering. No one was to look for her. So why was Alistair calling her back? Zev/Surana**

**Author's Note: Thank you for reading. Review please.**

* * *

_All this feels strange and untrue_

_And I won't waste a minute without you._

_-Open your eyes, _Snow Patrol

* * *

Chapter 29

She seemed to be falling forever, the last remnants of Ikilai's filthy, white-hot tentacles melting from her body as she tumbled through what felt like molasses. Try as she might, she couldn't move. Her eyes wouldn't open, yet she knew she was falling. The last of the pain was ebbing away into a slow, pulsing sensation. Vrinda and Ferias's voices were completely gone as though her ears had been plugged. Ikilai wasn't even whispering in her mind anymore, and she felt unusually light. Yet, despite all these feelings, it was as though she were missing a limb. The usual awareness of her surroundings that she normally had was gone. There was just her physical shell able to take in what it could. The thought frightened her.

Then there was only a softness beneath her. Languidly, she stretched her fingertips, feeling warm fur and blankets. Sound came next, the crackling of a fire, deep breathing somewhere, distant chatter and explosive laughter. The smell of blood and dried meats and wine filled the air, a bit of delicate perfume and sweat mixing in perfect harmony. Slowly, she opened her eyes, finding it difficult beyond belief. The second they were open, though, she scrambled backward.

It was the room at the castle, to be sure. More specifically, it was her and Zevran's room at Alistair's castle that she was in, sparkling new with recent furniture bought from Orlais, her armor buffed and shining on its stand, new books still wet with preservative. Syn was lying on his side in the corner by the fire, snuffling softly in his sleep, one paw gently scratching at the ground. Glancing down, she immediately hugged the comforter to her chest, realizing she was naked. But then she pulled the comforter back and glanced down. At least half of her tattoos were gone, the large scar that ran parallel to her stomach healed as though it had never been there, skin much lighter as though she'd recently taken a bath in milk.

Where was she? Or more appropriately, _when_ was she?

Leaping out of the bed, she nearly tripped as the blankets tangled around her ankles to the bathroom. There, she stared hard in the mirror. She was younger, that much was certain. It hadn't been until two years after her departure from Ferelden that she'd made a deal for everlasting youth. Fewer crinkles around her eyes lent a delicate curve to each almond shape, her mouth in a perfect heart, pink and kiss-bruised. Her nose wasn't as pointed, hair long and curling as it had been when she was an apprentice. She'd grown it out after the battle with the archdemon.

The intimidating light in her eyes was gone completely. Instead of the startling blue she'd gotten used to after all the years, they were a softer, stormy color. Deep and very beautiful, holding a superior knowledge despite the youth of her body. It was the face of an elf who had seen much and hadn't let it affect her. It was her from a time before the weight of the world had crashed on top of her, and, too weak to dig her way out, she had let it crush her entirely.

Someone opened the door to her room, a blast of cooler air forcing a shiver out of her, and a familiar and missed voice drifted through. She peeked around the corner. "Ha! How I love the nobles! You should have seen their faces when I walked out there without my shirt," Zevran joked, tossing a thumb at the door behind him. He sank his teeth into an apple with a sharp snap.

"Zevran..." she whispered and flew into his arms. Startled, he stumbled backward a few steps but hooked his arms around her waist anyway.

"What a welcoming party," he commented. He kissed her forehead. "I was only gone for a few minutes."

Her trembling hands went to his face, feeling the rough hair that had grown there, his smooth skin. She traced the marking on his face, biting her lip to keep from crying. It was true. He was really there. Pressed against her, his heart beat slow and warm and _alive. _Confusion spread across his face. Tentatively, she kissed his mouth. Sweet wine and apples and Zevran. "Creators," she gasped. "You're really alive."

"As I have been for some time now, and you'll be the first to know should that change. Is this some new sort of game you've come up with?" he asked, looking at her as though she'd grown a second head. "I'm not adverse to trying something new, and I am proud of you. Leliana was just saying to me that you lacked imagination."

Leliana was still in the castle. Elda put a hand over her stomach, glancing down. Was she pregnant yet? There seemed to be a tiny bulge, a hardness there, but she couldn't be certain.

"Did you want to go back down the celebration? A king only gets married a virgin once, you know," he laughed, taking another bit of his apple, her strangeness already forgotten. An arm snaked around her waist. "Though we could stay up here."

Her head snapped up. "Alistair got married today?"

"Did you try to out-drink Oghren again?" he demanded a bit worriedly. "My dear, you're just not up to the task. There is no way that an elf can-"

"Shh," she whispered, putting a finger to his lips. She hugged him and buried her head into his chest, breathing in his scent. So she _was _pregnant, although only by a few weeks. Everything still felt like a dream sequence. The fact that Zevran was alive, that Rinna was alive, was almost too much to take in.

_But the price..._

"Zevran, is Wynne here?" she asked. The price had been steep indeed. That acute awareness of all things magical seemed to be gone. It was as though she were standing on only one leg, off balance. Wynne could tell her if all of her powers were gone, though she suspected it was completely true.

Again he looked at her strangely. "You were just speaking with her. Are you all right?"

Reaper's vestments were on the floor, and she bent to pick up the rest of her clothes. Stuffing them into a ball on the bed, she began pulling them on frantically. "I've got to talk with her." After she had slipped on her underclothes, Zevran put an arm on her shoulder.

"You need to talk with me. Did I miss something?" he was holding out her staff with one hand.

She yanked the rest of her clothes on and then sat on the bed to pull on her shoes. "Yes, but I'll explain it to you," Elda promised hurriedly. Then she stood up and started for the door. Pausing on the threshold, she turned back and stalked up to him. "Um, come with me. I'd rather not leave you alone."

"If you'd like," he responded. A crushing disappointment settled in her gut as she looked at the staff. It was a different weapon than the one she'd just been using, lacking the lyrium crust and polished indention for a handle. It was the weapon she'd used to kill the archdemon and protect Alistair and Zevran and Oghren from the fiery dragon's breath. Never again would she be able to use it.

Using the back of her hand, she pushed it away from her. "Get dressed," she murmured. "There's something important I need to explain to you all, you especially."

Talking with him was harder than it should have been. Not only did her throat keep clogging up with emotion, but it was also hard to think that this was a younger man. Zevran was all of a sudden six years younger than her, less experienced in almost everything. He didn't know about all the pain she'd caused him. This was a man who'd yet to kill his former masters, become friends with Alistair, and mourn for the loss of their love. He didn't know that soon he would have a daughter or that in the days to come he would discover the art of tattooing and they would mark each other. Creators, he was still laughing with relief to have survived the Blight at all, drunk on their lovemaking and the wine that never seemed to run out. He thought he was in heaven, and she would have to burden him almost immediately.

_But I won't run away, _she said to herself. _I won't do that to him again._

And she wouldn't. Zevran was more of a novice than before and less mature, surely, but he still felt the same deep inside. She would tell him of the child growing in her womb because she owed him that much. She owed Rinna that much. Before, there had been a rift between father and daughter, things unsaid, times when he should have been there. This time Rinna would grow up with the love of a father in her life. This time Elda wouldn't shoulder the burden alone, even if it was hard, even if he rejected her. Zevran had given his life for her. She owed him the chance if nothing else.

And if he did reject the child, then she would always be there. Forever she would wait in the wings, and Rinna would to. If time was needed, she would give him that. They had all the time in the world.

Meanwhile, Zevran was pulling on a shirt and buckling his leather armor on over it. His daggers were polished and leaning against the fireplace, flames reflected in the shining surfaces. She cast a forlorn glance at her staff and then began sizing up the weapons. Zevran would have to train her extensively on the use of such things. Of course she had basic training. After traveling with an assassin and a bard, she had picked up a few tricks. Knowing the basics of using weapons had helped on a few occasions but building upon that would take time. She'd have to rely heavily on Zevran and the rest of her friends to accomplish what she had in mind.

He stood there in his Antivan boots and Dalish gloves and dragon scale armor, arms crossed, waiting. Smiling sadly, she put a hand on his chest, patting at imaginary dirt. "I love you," she told him.

"Oh, that word," he murmured. "This must be serious."

"More serious than you can ever know," she answered before leaning up to kiss him. "Now come on."

* * *

"I do not understand it," Wynne declared worriedly. "I can sense absolutely no mana in you at all. It is as if you were never a mage to begin with."

"That was the point," Elda sighed, rubbing at her arm. She looked at Zevran who hadn't even glanced at her since she'd finished the story.

"You've lost all your magic," he whispered. "For me."

"And the baby," Leliana added thoughtfully.

Elda sighed. He had handled it well so far. The shock of the pregnancy had worn off quickly as he'd already suspected as much. The rest of it was a little harder to swallow. To think that in the future he would die if she left him...well, it certainly was putting things in perspective. As she had been telling it, the wild truth of it had dawned on her. No one in a million years should have believed her, but they all did. Wynne, in her quiet wisdom, had accepted it with the bow of her head, even her traitorous actions. Alistair had spluttered a bit, asking question after question, but in his eyes it was apparent that he knew she was telling the truth. Blind in her faith, Leliana was only focused on the new future and the baby growing steadily inside of Elda. Zevran...he hadn't said much. One of the reasons she'd fallen in love with him was his careful way of hiding emotions. She admired that. For once, however, she wanted him to tell her how he felt.

As for not being able to use magic, when Wynne had told her initially, she'd felt a crushing disappointment. Acceptance of the situation was there, but it was buried deep. A part of her had hoped her magic might have still been there, but that was a foolish notion from the start. Ikilai would have taken his payment, of course. Still, in comparison to what she had lost to what she had gained, there was very little regret. The more she thought of Ferias and Vrinda, even Greagoir, the more she felt that staying out of their lives would be more beneficial.

"I made a decision, and I'll live with the consequences," Elda told him before looking to Alistair. She'd deal with Zevran later. "But to make sure that nothing like that ever happens again, there are a few things I need to do."

"Like what?" Leliana asked, surprised.

Alistair nodded. "I'll help however I can."

"Actually," she smiled uncertainly, "I'll need Antivan expertise for this. _Crow _expertise as a matter of fact." She shot a glance at Zevran who raised an eyebrow.

"Crow expertise?" he murmured aloud. "Oh! That would be me." Stepping past Leliana, he slipped an arm around her waist. "Where are we going?"

"How about a bloodbath?" she whispered in his pointed ear. "I was thinking we might spill a little Crow blood in Antiva City."

"See? This is why I like you," he laughed. "Always game for a little fun." Those words had been spoken just after Alistair's coronation when she had suggested that a bloodbath would be a fun idea. His large hands went around her waist and picked her up, twirling her around once. She yelped in surprise, but threw her arms around his neck.

Zevran's kiss was sweeter than honey.

"We're going to hunt down Alaeze," Elda said once he'd set her down. "And I'm going to need your help, Leliana. And if anyone can reach him, I'd like Oghren to come along as well."

Alistair said, "I'll have someone send a message to him right away."

Leliana was chewing on her bottom lip. "Elda, you're completely powerless. And with the baby..." she trailed off.

Zevran put a palm to her stomach. "That's right," he said. "You are carrying my legacy now. What are we to do about that?"

"Legacy," Alistair snorted.

Covering his hand with hers and lacing their fingers, she said, "That's not going to be a problem. I'm only a few weeks along, and I'll wear my armor."

"Endurance training," Wynne mumbled.

Leliana glanced at her. "What?"

"You will have to do some endurance training," Wynne repeated a bit louder. She was speaking to Zevran. "You'll have to teach her to be a rogue now. Obviously, with ever last bit of her mana gone, you'll have to teach her how to defend herself. Without her powers as an arcane warrior, that armor will be far too heavy."

"That's right," Elda sighed. "I could channel my magic to balance the weight. It wasn't real endurance at all. But we don't have time for that."

"If what you said is true," Leliana gripped her arm, "then this Alaeze will only be about ten years old. Surely you can't think to kill a child."

"To protect our own?" Zevran asked, eyes dark. "Then why not?"

"She's no older than Connor was," Alistair whispered sadly.

"And you did not kill him," Wynne offered.

"I don't know what I'm going to do, yet," Elda snapped at them. "I don't know how long she's been with the Crows. All I know is that I have to get her away from them so that she can never attack me again."

"If they choose someone else?" Zevran asked lightly, toying with a strand of her hair. "Contracts can be passed down."

"Then we'll deal with that," she answered. "I don't have all the answers. Alaeze was the one that killed Zevran. If we can somehow eliminated her as an opposing factor..."

"By kidnapping her perhaps? Taking her to Ferelden?" Leliana wondered aloud.

"She can't be any different than a normal ten year old," Alistair argued. "Why not just keep her here with us? That way we can keep an eye on her."

Zevran frowned. "You want my future murderer in the castle? And we were just becoming good friends!" His head rolled around to give Elda a forlorn glance. "And you wonder why I want to go back to Antiva."

Elda shook her head but otherwise ignored Zevran. "I think that's actually a good idea."

"Pardon?" Zevran protested.

"She'll never be able to get to you," Elda told him sadly, "because you and I are leaving Ferelden for good."

* * *

**So, what do you think? Have I ruined it for all of you? Haha. Thanks for reading. Review please.**


	30. Touch

**Title: Snow and Ice**

**Rating: Mature**

**Warnings: Sexual content, minor language, violence, blood, use of alcohol**

**Summary: Once upon a time, a maleficar had stopped the blight. Afterwards, she'd left for the colder North, leaving love for a life of loneliness and wandering. No one was to look for her. So why was Alistair calling her back? Zev/Surana**

**Author's Note: Thank you for reading. Review please.**

_This time this one's for us_

_-_Last Song, Skillet

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Chapter 30

The cool stone felt good against her back, hot steam forcing the blood to the surface of her skin so that it appeared warm and pinkish. Zevran was outside speaking rapidly with Leliana, still arguing about their departure even though it had been hours since the first shock of it. Leliana was distraught, even yelling a few times in her native tongue. The others understood, but not her. Never her. She felt as though she were being betrayed again. Leliana could never go back to Orlais, and it hurt her that Zevran was going back to Antiva. After all, why could only one outcast return home?

Thin fingers swept over the crown of her head, drawing her silver hair back so that it could be combed. Delicate perfumes and extravagant soap reminded her of Zevran, and at that moment in time it was all she could have. He had been worrying about setting off, traveling to the weaponsmith and requesting special-made armor from Wade. She wanted nothing more than to have him hold her. Zevran didn't know how close she had come to losing him forever, though. And Leliana wouldn't give them any time to be alone.

After yanking her hair back into a long ponytail, she climbed from the tub and wrapped a thick towel around her torso. Steam rolled out of the door in waves, the scent of her mixed soaps flavoring the room almost immediately as she walked out. Zevran was just saying goodbye to Leliana at the door. Syn leaped to his feet and sloppily licked her hand. She pressed a palm to his nose and padded to the chest at the end of the bed.

Zevran shut the door and sighed against it.

"She won't give up easily, will she?" Elda asked absently, still buzzing with relaxation.

"Hmm," he murmured, eyes raking over her body. "Well, it might have helped had you not sprung that on us in the spur of the moment."

"Zev," she sighed and stood up. The firelight played across her body, casting flattering shadows and making her skin glisten as though it were made of spider webs and starlight. Her icy eyes glittered like gems. "Is it so bad that I want to live in Antiva with you? Where else would we start our family?" Both started walking at the same time. He took her hands in his and stared into her eyes. "Besides, wouldn't you like to repay those bastards for torturing you like they did? Imagine it! The two of us as the leaders of the Crows!"

A finger came up under her chin. "My, how your eyes burn when you think of causing mischief," he chuckled.

"I lost you forever once," she whispered, eyes downcast. "I don't want to live through that a second time. If we run the Crows, they can never hurt us again."

His hands wrapped around her throat and then slowly traveled down, pausing at her shoulders. She shivered at his touch, tan fingers sliding on her soaked skin. "And now that you've lost your powers?"

With a sigh, she toyed with a buckle on his armor. "It's not so bad, really. Being a bloodmage is exhausting. Demons, the fact that at any moment you could become an abomination, never being able to get a night's sleep, sacrifices, open wounds and pain. I won't say it hasn't helped me get out of a few sticky situations, but so far I haven't missed it..." Glancing up, she met his eyes before standing on her tip-toes to kiss his mouth. "Besides, I have you back. I get a second chance. Not everyone does."

Hand sliding up to grab the base of her neck, Zevran slanted his mouth over hers and kissed her passionately. Heat scorched her flesh more than any hot steam ever could as he removed the fingers that were holding the towel over her body. The blue cloth fell to the floor in a pile, and she stepped on it, pushing him back toward the fire. Her fingers swept over his face, taking in the shape of strong jawline, the delicate stubble, and the high cheekbones. Then, she stopped in wonder.

"Zevran, I can feel you with both hands," she whispered against his mouth.

"I should hope so," he chuckled and kissed her again.

The other had been burned so badly the first time they had made love, but in her old body, it wasn't. But the explanation could come later. Smiling, she pressed her lips to his and began to unbuckle the troublesome armor that always seemed to get in the way. Even in camp, that had been the most annoying step of all. Her robes, well, they came off quite easily.

Deft and well-trained fingers worked the buckles until the armor dropped, and she pressed her fingers against his abdomen, tracing the well-defined muscles there. It occurred to her for a moment that this was a younger Zevran, one in top physical form right after the battle with the archdemon. The thought was cut short when Zevran hissed at the cold contact of her fingers against his heated flesh. Her hands were always cold. There was nothing she could do about it, even after taking a hot bath moments before. Fingers entwining with hers, Zevran kissed her again, quickly switching places and shoving her against the bricks right next to the fire.

She gasped and felt his tongue slip into her mouth. He tasted of sweet wine and fruit, the muskiness of his own unique flavor bringing a flood of memories to life. Rough and insistent, his fingers left bruises on her hips, bringing her closer while her hand rested on his lower belly. Scars scattered across his body had her remembering how many more he would acquire in the coming years and if he would look back and feel naked without them. She was missing quite a few scars herself, and the absence of her tattoos had her feeling more exposed than ever.

On his knees, he placed hot, open-mouthed kisses to the flesh of her belly, hands letting up a bit so that she could move. Desire and lust flowed through her younger body with renewed vengeance. She was almost hyper-sensitive to his every touch, gasping as his slick tongue delved into the dip of her navel. She threaded her thin fingers into his hair to feel the silky strands. Next to them the fire crackled in earnest. Syn paid them no mind. Zevran's fingers were suddenly latching onto hers, intertwining as he stood up. He kissed her again as she fumbled with the strings of his pants.

Stones pressed hard into her back, leaving angry red imprints just like his hands. But it didn't matter. Making love to Zevran wasn't like making love to anyone else. He wasn't gentle or sweet with her just as she wasn't with him. The entire experience was about pleasure and dominating the other person. Devouring their very souls. Claiming that which made them unique.

A hand was on her thigh, lifting her up and spreading her legs. His kisses became sweeter, gentle nips as he looked into her eyes. Molten gold met icy blue, almost asking for permission. Hard fingernails sank into his shoulder blades as he entered her in one swift movement with a groan. She moaned, biting her lower lip and burying her head against his clavicle. Zevran's muscles rippled magnificently in the dim light as he kept her balanced and began moving inside of her.

There had never been a more wonderful feeling. He was slow at first, peppering her neck in sweet kisses and running his hand all over her body. Pleasure ripped through her over and over again as he moved, and she nipped at his ear while he whispered his Antivan curses. She ran a finger over the shell of his pointed ear and felt him shiver as she tightened her legs around his waist, allowing for deeper penetration.

He gripped her neck and kissed her forcefully, teeth clacking together and flavoring the kiss with blood as her lip split. Further against the wall he drove her until she finally cried out his name in ecstasy. Blinking back the stars in her eyes, she realized that he had reached his peak as well and was placing slow and languid kisses to her throat and cheekbones and eyelids.

There was a hiss of pain when she plucked her nails one by one from his shoulder blades, the smell of blood faint and metallic in the room. She unlatched her legs from around his waist and felt him slide from her though he was still pinning her to the wall.

"Hmm," she whispered, smiling. "I did miss that."

"There was a reason you were naked this morning," he whispered back, eyes twinkling.

"I remember the months after we slew the archdemon fondly," she mused, patting his cheek before disentangling herself from him. She began hunting for her clothes.

"Ah, yes," he replied before bending down to pluck his pants from the floor. "So far they've been full of sex, wine, and lavish treatment."

"Lavish treatment? Been chatting up that cute little mage from the tower again?" she teased. "He's in love, I swear it!"

"I only asked him to help me with a few things," Zevran smiled. An arm hooked around the crook of her knees, the other coming up to catch her. She yelped in surprise as he was holding her bridal style, her hand resting against his left breast. Those golden eyes were soft as he stared at her, the eyes of a lover, not an assassin. "Besides that, I don't think I can handle more than one mage from the tower at a time."

"Hardly a mage anymore," she mumbled, fingers coming up to rest against his cheek. Placing a soft kiss on his mouth, she patted his arm in a clear signal to let her down. "But flirt all you want. I left you for six years, and you stayed faithful. I know I can trust you."

"That sounds like a challenge," he whispered in her ear, nipping it gently before setting her down. "And it's strange to hear you talk about things that haven't happened to me, yet I was there."

"What's really strange is that you trust me completely," she snorted, bending down and picking up her robes. "I could be making this all up." She slid them on over her skin, the silk soft and malleable.

"You're not that imaginative," was his reply.

"So it's not trust," she frowned. "You're just taking this all at my word because I couldn't possibly think it up."

"Correct," he answered.

Seeing herself in front of the mirror still struck her as strange, but she forced herself to stand there and straighten the mess he'd made of her hair. The silvery strands had all come out of the bind, sticking up in several different directions while the curling base of her ponytail was squashed out of shape. Determinedly, she ripped the binding tie from her hair and ran her fingers through the still-wet tresses, attempting to comb them without using the brush in front of her.

Her finger brushed over a deep scar on the back of her neck, and she paused. Alaeze came to her mind. The scar had come from that templar in the tower, the one that had taken advantage of her as a little girl. The pain of him hitting her head off the side of the bed was vivid in her mind. Just how much agony were the Crows putting a little girl, an enemy once, at that very moment while she basked in Zevran's love?

The former Crow came up behind her and wound his arms around her torso, armor pressing into the soft curve of her back. Already he was dressed. She chewed on her lip and let her hands fall, curling hair tumbling around her neck.

"Is it terrible, Zev? Being a child in the Crows?" she asked him demurely, fingers gently caressing his tattooed arm.

He sighed, hot breath on her neck. "You are thinking of our young mage?"

"I am."

"I've told you the stories," he murmured, toying with a strand of her hair. "Would you like me to lie?"

Feeling a bit smothered, she slipped out of his arms and padded to the opposite wall, leaning against it with her arms crossed. "If you could go back, Zevran," she paused, wanting to phrase the question right. "I mean, if you could have been rescued from the Crows, would you have wanted to be?"

She knew that Zevran had wanted to be a Crow more than anything; their time in the Fade with Sloth proved that. Willing to endure torture to become one of them, Zevran had been a most promising recruit. But it had been all he had ever known. If given the chance, would he want to know more? Did being older give him a more profound understanding?

"Truthfully, at the time, no," he said. "I would have rather died than be separated from my master. Now, I am not so sure. There are other factors. Consider for a moment the consequences for us. I would never have met you. We would never be debating this. You would not be carrying my child. But this is not what you really want to ask. You want to know if taking Alaeze from the Crows is the right thing to do, or if killing her would be better for all of us."

She nodded. He knew her better than he let on, it was true.

"When confronted with a problem like this, I simply compare the positives to the negatives," Zevran shrugged. Syn flopped over in the corner. "Positives: If she is with us, we can keep a better eye on her, the death of a child won't be on your conscience, unless something awful happens, you'll have little to regret. Negatives: Where would we put her once we've taken her? Is it wise to leave her in the castle as Alistair suggests? What if she attempts to assassinate us anyway? The Crows could come looking for her. Or, if we are the leaders, she might despise us for being just that and try to do away with us."

Elda held up her hands. "Okay, I understand. There are a lot more negatives than positives. We _should _just kill her and be done with it." As though suddenly weary, she crossed the room and hugged him around the waist, burying her head into his chest. "I've killed children before, Zevran. I've killed, maimed, and sacrificed a lot of innocent people. I just feel as though, in some way, I'm responsible for that little girl's suffering."

He forced her head up with a finger under her chin. "Because you were born? Because Loghain paid for a job? Because the Crows are intrigued? That is not your fault."

"I didn't say it made sense," Elda sighed. "It doesn't matter anyway, does it? We'll have to decide soon enough anyway. When we're running things, nothing like this will ever happen again."

"Actually," Zevran winced, "it is far more likely."

"You know what I mean," she smacked him. "Children won't be taught from the day they're born to hate me."

"And that is another thing," he said, "what if she has already begun to despise you? What if it is too late to 'save her soul'?"

"Then we kill her. I'm not playing around with your life, not for the life of one little girl," Elda replied, putting a hand on her stomach. "Besides, we've got a daughter on the way. And I think you'll love her."

"Hmm," he murmured, placing his hands around her slightly curved stomach as well. "I know there was a great sentiment behind your naming her Rinna, but is that open to negotiation?"

"No," she kissed him. "It's not."

* * *

**Got a new laptop. This took a while. Sorry. Review please if you've an opinion on whether or not Alaeze should die.**


	31. Dwarf

**Title: Snow and Ice**

**Rating: Mature**

**Warnings: Sexual content, minor language, violence, blood, use of alcohol**

**Summary: Once upon a time, a maleficar had stopped the blight. Afterwards, she'd left for the colder North, leaving love for a life of loneliness and wandering. No one was to look for her. So why was Alistair calling her back? Zev/Surana**

**Author's Note: Thank you for reading. Review please.**

* * *

_The dog days are over,_

_The dog days are done._

_Can you hear the horses?_

_Cause here they come._

* * *

Chapter 31

"Once more, I think," Zevran said cheerfully, bending over his long sword which was stuck in the ground. Elda was panting, hands on her knees, face and neck flushed pink from exertion and amusement. The heavy chainmail armor clung to her sweaty skin and the undershirt that Zevran had allowed her to borrow was holding on like an octopus. Her silver hair was yanked upward into a ponytail and soaked with perspiration, a few loose strands sticking to her forehead as the relentless sun beat down on her back.

Her arms and legs burned from the exercise while Zevran leered and joked, showing off his various combination attacks and throwing her to the ground every chance he got. Dirt was caked under her fingernails, and a single smear ran from her cheekbone all the way down her neck. "Is this how you treat the woman carrying your unborn child?" she demanded indignantly. In truth even while he'd been jostling her around, Zevran had been most careful. Most of the time he'd been holding her and cushioning her fall with his own body. It was a game, purely and simply. They both were holding back.

"Might I remind you that you are the first?" he grinned. "This is revenge in a way for all warriors and rogues. All you mages must do is wiggle your beautiful little fingers, and the enemy is gone. Welcome to the world of pure, hard combat."

"I seem to recall a time when my finger wiggling saved your life!" she growled, scowling as she stood up and lifted the daggers for a seventh time. "A lot of times, actually."

"Ah, if you would use the energy you spend insulting me," he grinned, "in actual combat we would be getting somewhere, my gorgeous pupil."

She charged him then. If there was one thing to be said of the mage, she was quick on her feet. Zevran met her first strike with his own blade, putting little effort behind pushing her back. She stumbled away from him, leaving him an opening any enemy could exploit. He thrust the dagger forward toward her stomach, careful not to actually hit her, but warn her of that particular opening. She twisted away, sliding around behind him and swinging the dagger around toward his head. He ducked easily, crouching and rolling away before stepping back several steps. A grin broke out on his face, and he dropped the daggers to his sides. They hit the ground with a dull thud each, and he ignored the scowl on her face. Enraged, she made another charge for him.

His hand shot up and latched around the wrist that made the strike, forcing her to drop the dagger. Not giving up yet, she made to attack him with the other blade, thrusting it forward and then pulling back, knee coming up to kick at his stomach. When her foot made contact, he grunted but didn't let go, twisting her wrist until it started to hurt. Instead of attempting to use the dagger, she let it drop the ground and shot her head forward, forehead crashing into his with an audible crack.

They both stumbled to the ground, her legs straddling his waist, petite fingers going about his neck and staying there as he panted on the ground. She leaned down, a murderous glint in her eyes only to place a kiss on his mouth and stand up, offering a hand.

"Oh, you've been holding back," Zevran accused, taking her soft, pliant hand.

"I gave myself away," she frowned, beginning to pull him up. Zevran gave a great yank on her arm and sent her sprawling on top of him. Clamping both of his hands down on her waist, he held her close on the ground, staring into her eyes.

"Hmm, how about a break?" he whispered against her mouth, hot breath tantalizing against the smooth skin of her lips. She shivered, touching his face with her cold fingers.

"Bunch of bloody elves," a familiarly deep voice exclaimed, "always prancing about, lying in the dirt. Waste of sodding space."

Elda glanced up and a grin split her face. "Oghren? Creators, is that you?"

"In the sodding flesh," the mighty dwarf replied. Oghren hadn't changed at all, though she wasn't sure why she had been expecting him to. It had only been a few months after the fight with the archdemon, after all. Transitioning into the past had been a hard won feat, and she was still trying to remember all the little things from six years previously. His fiery red hair was cut just as shaggy as before, hanging in his eyes and sticking up as if he'd just rolled out of some bed after a heavy night of drinking. His beard was plaited into a knot, filthy with bits and pieces of whatever he'd last eaten. The Legion armor found in the Deep Roads still reeked of blood and stone, but made him look a proper dwarf at least.

His beady eyes glanced down at her waist, and he grimaced. "For the love of my Ancestors, elf, you telling me you got a bellyful of that Antivan bastard?"

She slowly climbed off Zevran and put a hand across the tiny, hardened bulge on her stomach. "It's not that noticeable, is it?" she demanded weakly.

"It looks like you swallowed a damned boulder," he replied honestly. "How big do you elves get, anyway? Sodding thing should be ready to fall out by now, eh? The bun is ready to be taken out of the oven?"

"Ho, ho, my stout friend," Zevran replied from the ground, tilting his head back just enough for Oghren to see his face. At some point during their conversation, he'd put his arms behind his head. "You are a comic genius, indeed. Very fortunately, this isn't a dwarf we're talking about. The 'bun' must cook for quite a deal longer." He rolled over. "The brain must develop, you see, unlike in your culture."

"Why you yellow-bellied Antivan," Oghren roared, face going pink, hand darting up to clasp around the handle of his huge, silver axe, "I'm not afraid to make the nugget grow up without a father."

"Knock it off, Zevran," Elda chided. "Can we just have a peaceful reunion?"

"He just saw you a month or so ago," Zevran replied nonchalantly, not worried at all about the murderous dwarf. "You simply don't remember."

"What, you get knocked on the head while you were, uh, bucking the bronto?" Oghren snorted, letting his hand fall.

"I'm sure Leliana will fill you in," she said patiently to Oghren. "But now that you're here, no more messing about. We need to all meet in the castle and formulate a plan."

"With the demonstration I just saw?" Zevran leaped to his feet. "You must have a death wish, my love, because the Crows will tear you apart."

"We were both holding back," Elda told him gently. "I'm much better than that, I can assure you. I once killed four of your elite team in the dark without magic."

"Hmm, why do I feel like you're simply lying to me so we will leave for Antiva all the quicker?" he mused, staring at her with his golden, liquid eyes and arching a fine brow.

Sighing, she crossed her arms. "Would you like another, more appropriate demonstration?"

"I would."

"Fine," she snapped, and before he could even register it, her hand had darted behind her back and tossed up a small, silver knife there. Twisting, she caught it mid-air and swung her arm around, allowing the tip to stop right at the hollow of his throat. Then she felt the familiar bite of a knife against her own throat and chuckled briefly.

"Perhaps in paranoia, we are perfectly matched," he murmured, letting the knife drop.

"Was that good enough for you?" she demanded, sliding the weapon into its leather sheath behind her thigh.

"No," he sighed. "I'm afraid I will never be truly satisfied with your skills if you are still in danger. And make no mistake, my love, you will be in danger in Antiva City."

"I'm counting on it," she told him with a twinkle in her eye. "You wouldn't want me to grow old and grey, would you?"

Before he could open his mouth to reply, the dwarf let loose a horrible noise between a belch and a growl. "Quit all this jabberin'. I want to kill some Antivans. Let's go." With is great stubby legs, Oghren began a march toward the castle. With something like disgust, Zevran watched him go before turning his face toward her and kissing her flush on the mouth.

The kiss became passionate before she could even respond, his hand gripping the back of her head and forcing her to him. She squeaked in surprise before relaxing in his embrace. When he pulled back after a series of quick kisses on her mouth, she sighed. "I continue forgetting that we're still in the honeymoon phase." Patting his cheek, she disentangled herself from his arms.

"I just remembered that Oghren and Leliana will be tagging along with us," Zevran pouted. "However am I going to satisfy you with those two just in the next cabin?"

"Cabin?" she repeated inquisitively.

Snorting, he put a hand on her shoulder. "Unless you wish to walk across the sea, we'll be taking a boat to Antiva."

Turning green at the very thought but also feeling a bit of fascination building in her, she felt a smile tug at her lips. In the wasteland, she'd seen the sea many times but had never traveled on it. The gentle rocking of the boat made her sick to her stomach, though, and she hoped they wouldn't spend the entire length of the trip with Zevran playing nursemaid while she hung her head over the side of the ship. Although, it was a distinct possibility anyway if she began to feel the first symptoms of pregnancy.

"Wait until you see her," Zevran was saying. "You can appreciate beautiful architecture and culture."

"I hope this is Antiva we're talking about," Elda frowned at him.

"I believe I am beginning to rub off on you," he grinned.

Patting her stomach for emphasis, she said, "I think so, too."

…

Inside the castle Elda took a quick bath in steaming water and rinsed off the soap suds before pulling on a pair of loose, cloth pants and a dark tunic. Not wearing her robes still felt strange, but the magical properties of the cloth made her nearly drunk with lyrium exposure. Wynne advised heavily against going near anything with lyrium properties as it seemed to affect her more than the rest of them. Elda was hesitant to take her advice, still mistrusting Wynne even though the mage had no idea she'd betrayed the elf. Wynne was one of the reasons she was leaving. There was no way for her to use blood magic anymore, but she wasn't taking any chances that Greagoir might come after her for past mistakes during the Blight. She was finished completely with Ferelden, ready to leave and live her life with Zevran.

She met them all in an alcove off the throne room. It was nicely decorated in rich red silks hanging from the walls, Alistair sitting in his polished, kingly armor with a goblet of some sort of liquid gold wine. The smell was sweet and made her mouth water. A large plate of fruit lay in the middle of the table, each of her companions leaning against something like it was in the old days. They were all waiting on her to come up with a plan once again. The nostalgia was almost overwhelming.

Striding up to the table, she grabbed a ruby apple from the plate and sank her pointed, elven teeth into it. Foreign and delicious, the apple dripped juice over her mouth. Wiping at it, she unrolled the map and sank a small blade into both the top and the bottom to keep it from curling.

"Okay, our main objective is to take out the Crows. Zevran says there are at least a hundred cells. We can't possibly hit all of those. So…we're going straight for the middle. I figure if we can assassinate the top players, we can take over without being challenged," she said, glancing at them all.

"How long are we going to be in this sodding country?" Oghren grumbled.

"Zevran and I are staying indefinitely. You two can leave whenever you like."

Leliana stepped forward to argue, but a sharp look from Alistair silenced her. She slinked back against the wall, biting her lip. Zevran sheathed the blade he had been toying with and glanced around the room.

"This isn't going to be easy," he said. "The Crows' reputation alone protects the Antivan border. There is no guarantee that even if we kill the masters of the top cell, a decidedly difficult task, that the other cells won't attack us afterward."

"We killed a bleedin' archdemon," Oghren huffed. "Bunch of elves can't be too tough."

"Oghren, might I remind you that I'm an elf?" Elda said, exasperated.

"And there are humans and dwarves in the Crows as well," Leliana piped from her corner.

Snorting as though that changed nothing for him, Oghren addressed Alistair. "You coming you little pike-twirler?"

"Hey, that's King Pike-Twirler to you, dwarf," Alistair said a bit snobbishly. "But no, I'm not coming. I can't go to Antiva, and I can't leave my people here. This is Zevran and Elda's mission, anyway."

"With me out of commission and two rogues on my side, I need a heavy hitter, Oghren," Elda explained. "Will you come or no?"

Beady eyes swirling about in his head as he took in her sincere expression and Leliana's pleading countenance, the dwarf shrugged and took a deep breath beneath his beard. "I didn't let ya get eaten by an archdemon; I won't let a buncha bloody birds take you down. Consider me signed up."

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**Short but I'm working on another project. I know this hasn't ended yet, but how would you guys feel about a sequel? I'll ask again at the end, but since I know how it's going to finish, I want to get a good estimate on how many would like the idea so I can start drafting it now.**


	32. The Price

**Title: Snow and Ice**

**Rating: Mature**

**Warnings: Sexual content, minor language, violence, blood, use of alcohol**

**Summary: Once upon a time, a maleficar had stopped the blight. Afterwards, she'd left for the colder North, leaving love for a life of loneliness and wandering. No one was to look for her. So why was Alistair calling her back? Zev/Surana**

**Author's Note: Thank you for reading. Review please.**

* * *

_Terrible and crippling_

_The pain is much more than physical_

_-Criminal, _Disturbed

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Chapter 32

After booking passage on a ship to Antiva for the very next morning, everyone had gone to their respective rooms to pack and rest for the coming days. Zevran was standing silhouetted against the fireplace, the hearth crackling loudly with warm flames as he worked on a blade, sparks flying off like magic with each strike of the hammer. His face was solemn and concentrated, every once in a while holding up the blade and inspecting it before continuing the flattening process. He'd convinced some of the guards to drag an anvil up to their room so he could make a new weapon for himself. Elda was propped up in a chair with an open book on her lap, reading the Antivan words with some difficulty at Zevran's suggestion. Not everyone in Antiva spoke Ferelden. She would have to learn the language in its entirety.

There was a particular sentence in the book she could not read, and she was struggling with it. "Zevran, what does this mean?" she demanded impatiently, aggravated at herself.

"Read it to me," he said simply.

"_Q-Quando_ _azienda—_"she growled in frustration. "I don't know. Come and read it yourself."

Chuckling slightly, he set the hammer and the dagger down on the black surface of the anvil and threw an arm around the back of the chair, kneeling next to her shoulder and reading the sentence. The smell of burning coal and sweat from the heat calmed her nerves slightly. "When holding the spear at arm's length, focus more on throwing distance than power." Smiling to himself, he kissed her cheek and padded back over to the heat of his work.

Tossing the book onto the bed without marking her place, she smoothed out the wrinkled state of her white, cotton nightgown and declared, "I am going to the kitchen for something to eat." She stood and made her way to the door.

Zevran threw a fleshy belt around her waist and brought her quickly to halt, leaning in close. "Was that your way of quitting?" He gestured to the forgotten book on the bed with nod.

"I'm not quitting," she said, ducking out of his arms and away. "I am taking a break. In case you've forgotten, I'm eating for two now."

"I haven't forgotten," he answered quickly, holding the dagger at an angle. Up close, the craftsmanship was beautiful, and she found yet another thing about Zevran that she didn't know. The handle was chased silver, deep blue and almost glowing like the tattoos Ikilai had once carved into her arms. The pattern was beautiful, winding silver vines that criss-crossed over the handle and onto the flat plane of the blade to about the halfway point. The handle was small but wide, made for tiny but long fingers. Glancing first to her and then back to the blade, he plucked the shabby blade from her sheath and replaced it with the new. "A perfect fit. And Taliesan said I had no skill for crafting."

"Zev, I can't take this," she said pointedly, removing the blade from the pouch. It was incredibly light in her hand and glinted beautifully with firelight and silver. "You've been working on it for hours."

"Precisely," he kissed her. "My gorgeous, magic-less mage, every rogue needs a weapon worthy of them. This hardly does you justice, but it will do until you can wield something a bit more potent."

Her eyes softened and she leaned up to kiss him on the mouth, slow and passionate. Warmth spread all the way from her fingers to her toes, the gesture much more than appreciated. It was moments like this that made her completely glad she had given up all of her powers to be with him. Even as she grew to love him more, it made her sad that she had left him behind all those years ago.

"You're going to be a wonderful father," she whispered against his lips, feeling his hand press against the small of her back.

He chuckled. "I certainly hope so. Do you think it will still be a girl? Or could the choices we have made change that?"

"Doesn't matter, does it?" she asked, stepping back from the sticky press of his skin and the smell of fire. "We're going to Antiva to start a new life, and when we've taken over the Crows, we can finally be a family."

His thumb brushed her cheek. "I thought you said you never wanted a family." It wasn't an accusation; he was simply stating a fact.

"I didn't know what one was," she said. "Now, I'm going downstairs to get something to eat, and when I get back we're going to lie down on the bed, and you're going to teach me how to read that book."

"Hmm," he murmured, "no promises that we'll even get to the first page."

Shaking her head, she grabbed her robe on the way out and pulled on her shoes before stumbling into the corridor. Two of the guards saluted as she walked past, but she ignored them and started descending the large stairs made for human feet. Her tiny fingers were dwarfed upon the wall as she slid them across the damp stone, ducking around a few torches lining the walls. The air became cooler the deeper she descended into the heart of the castle, and she was grateful for the change in temperature. Elda had always felt much more at home in the cold than in the warm.

At the foot of the stairs, one of the soldiers stepped out of line and into her path, saluting vigorously. She nodded in confusion, and he began to speak. "My lady, King Alistair asks that we accompany you on any nighttime trips until tomorrow, the date of your departure."

Normally she would have felt extremely annoyed but being in the good mood that she was, she let it pass. "I'm simply going to the kitchen to get something to eat."

"We have our orders, my Lady. Apologies, but I must escort you."

"Then follow if you must," she inclined her head, stepping around him and snatching a torch from the wall. It was such an instinctual gesture, she stared in awe at her hand. Six years in the wastelands and she still knew which torch she used to grab from the end of her and Zevran's staircase. Zevran's voice echoed in her mind, words that he had once said in a warm tent during the Blight.

_Some things the body never forgets._

Shaking her head, she padded across the stone floor as maids and servants passed, straightening up the castle in preparation for the next day. Of course every room the king entered had to be immaculate. Alistair didn't expect them to do such things but perhaps Maric and his son once had. Each one bowed in respect to her, a fellow elf but one high above their own station. She and her elven lover had been given a room at the castle after all and called the almighty king by his first name. They were treated by royalty as if they were equals and sometimes even superiors. There was nothing she could do to be a part of them again. She was permanently raised.

She made it quickly to the kitchen and smiled in a friendly way to the pretty elven girl with fiery red hair who was quietly chopping green vegetables. She stuttered, immediately crossing her arms over her chest in the way she should have saluted a monarch. "My lady! F-Forgive the mess! We did not expect you. T-the cook has left to his quarter."

"It's fine," Elda tried to sound reassuring. "I don't require anything special. I was only coming in search of a snack." She gestured vaguely to her stomach.

"Oh! Of course," the elf squeaked. "The cook thought you might want something to eat later tonight. He prepared a tray. P-please, allow me to get it!" Wiping her hands on her clean, white apron, the elf bustled away. Elda took a seat at the counter, handing the torch to the guard when he offered to take it.

As she was drawing vague shapes onto the table with a finger, Elda heard an earth-shattering scream. She stood up so quickly that the stool clattered to the ground, hand going to her dagger. Behind her, she heard a hiss as the guard drew his sword and shield. From the pantry door, the elf stumbled into the room with a knife at her throat, a dark shape just behind her, white hair shining out from beneath a tattered, black hat.

"Help me!" the elven servant shrieked. Head snapping up, the man gashed her throat in an instant, sending her choking body propelling forward into the guard. He caught the girl and hissed a curse at the man, but Elda was too absorbed in his features. All feeling disappeared in her legs, and she felt like falling to her knees.

"It…can't be true," she whispered, backing up. "You…no."

His voice was so clear, ringing like a bell but so close as though he were inside her head.

"_I will be born into your world with the potential to end it."_

"Shut up!" she yelled, putting her hands over her pointed ears.

"_Change what you will child, live with the consequences._"

"Stop it! We made a deal!"

"_You will gain back what you have just lost, but in doing so you will lose everything_."

"Damn you!" she shrieked and, not knowing what else to do, she turned and ran. A cold, callous laughter lifted up from behind her. The sick, wet sound of flesh separating from flesh and blood dripping in a fast torrent onto the floor followed her as the guard was ripped apart. She darted around the corner and slid on her shoes, nearly falling to the ground in her haste, but as she ran she realized how much of a coward she was being.

Yet even as she wanted to stop and turn around and face the demon, her mind began repeating over and over that it was Ikilai. It was Ikilai in human flesh, and he could kill her in an instant if he wanted to. For some reason, her feet were taking her to Alistair's chambers. But as she sprinted across the wide throne room, a wall of fire erupted from the ground in front of her. The shining floor was slick with polish, she realized just a little too late as she tried to stop. Skidding to the ground, hitting her head on the floor, Elda managed not to run into the wall of flames. Red, angry skin glared up at her after the movement though, the friction burning the flesh of her upper arm. Frantic, she got to her feet and turned around, drawing her dagger as the demon—_mage, he was a mage_—came silently around the corner, clapping slowly in applause.

"I never figured you a coward," he hissed, handsome features smiling pleasantly. "I followed you all your life, and I never thought you a coward. Not once."

"I am _not _afraid of you," she whispered, trembling.

"But you are," he answered lightly. "I can smell it."

"Filthy demon," she spat. "I conjured you, and I can send you back to the Fade."

"No," he shook his head. "You can't. I'm flesh and blood now. Not human, perhaps, but not a demon. And this world," here he gestured widely around with his too-long arms, "is mine for the taking."

"You think you're so clever?" she growled, taking a few steps away from the heat of the fire. "I'll kill you just like I did Alaeze. I'll rend your flesh from your new bones and feed you to your brothers. You're breaking our pact, demon."

Shaking his head slowly back and forth as though pitying her, he sighed. "For all that you are an amazing specimen, you are truly a mortal."

Sensing a fight, she raised the dagger, prepared to attack when a sudden force gripped her wrist and yanked it down. Her fingers wouldn't move; she couldn't move any other part of her body. Then she realized he was using a blood control spell.

"I will not fight you, Elda," he said sadly. "Not now. I come with an offer."

"Another offer?" she demanded through clenched teeth, frustrated at her lack of guard. Somewhere in the back of her mind was the ability to block spells. She just couldn't recall how to do it.

He held out his hand, palm up. A tiny image appeared there, and her heart broke just looking at it. It was the mangled body of Rinna, the dead one. She tried to look away, but the spell had he bound. "Wouldn't you like to see your precious Rinna again? The real one, the one changed by years of walking in the wasteland, the one that you fell in love with?"

"I have my daughter, and I have my lover, and I am content."

"But what is that worth?" he implored. "Being content? Would it not be better to be happy? Gloriously happy and more powerful than you can imagine?"

"What are you offering, demon?" she asked, closing her eyes against the image of Rinna, bruised and cold on the ground, pretty hair tangled across her face.

"Join me," he hissed, the old magic touching her, fire and pleasure running across her skin. "Become my true queen. No more hiding in the darkness, no more making petty deals with petty demons and living with these mortals. Become truly ageless and eternally beautiful."

"You feed my vanity?" she scoffed, opening her eyes. "I will grow old and die if it means I can be with my family."

"But why when you have another choice?" he asked. "Why when you could be immortal and by my side, ruling this petty world and all its inhabitants?"

"Because I love them," she said, and that's when the Templars tried to strike him down.

One of them swung a mace directly at his head, and she felt the power holding her ebb away before fading completely. Not waiting even a moment, she backed up from the fire and ran straight for it. The heat was intense for only a moment until she made it on the other side, feet smacking against the floor as she darted toward Alistair's room. The entire castle seemed to scream with life in that moment, servants yelling about the fire and the sound of rending flesh as Ikilai dealt with the Templars. Elda exploded into Alistair and Anora's room, finding the Queen asleep on the bed and Alistair sitting in his armor reading.

"We've got to get out of here, your majesties," she said quickly, running to the bed to jerk Anora awake.

"What's going on?" Alistair demanded.

"No time to explain! Wake up, Anora," Elda shouted, slapping the queen on the cheek. "Get your sword and shield, Alistair! Anora!"

The queen blinked and opened her eyes, rage twisting her beautiful features. "What in the name of the Maker-?"

"Shut up and come on," Elda ordered, dragging her out of bed. The queen stumbled with the covers wrapped around her ankles, demanding explanations. "Alistair, Ikilai is here. I don't know how, but he's here, now come _on_!"

Alistair unsheathed his sword and shield, stepping in front of them and being immediately assaulted with heat as soon as he opened the door. Elda let go of the shaking queen's hand, fingers curling around Alistair's shield that seemed to be protecting her more than him. "Creators, he'll set the entire castle alight." She glanced back at them. "You must get out of here."

"Where is Zevran?" Alistair asked.

"I don't know, but he'll have smelled the smoke by now. Come on, Anora, we can't stay here," she whispered, taking the human's hand in her own and pulling her along. It easily eclipsed her own. The three of them started toward the throne room. Fire burned the curtains and the carpets, filling the entire building with black smoke as the sweltering heat made Elda break out into a sweat. She heard Anora cough violently, hardly being able to breath the heavy air. Elda pressed her hand into Alistair's back, urging him to go faster without words.

Sounds of battle reached her ears, and Alistair paused. The throne room was a bloodied massacre, and Anora turned green at the sight. Ikilai had indeed been tearing the men to pieces. Various body parts were scattered around, every inch of the floor splashed with blood. Three Templars were still attacking him, panting with exertion and injured by the spells despite their slight immunity. When Alistair made of them, Elda put a hand on his arm and guided him away.

"You and Anora are the priority here; we've got to go," she said and began leading them toward the exit.

"Maker!" Anora screamed as something wrapped around her ankle and dragged her down. She reached out with her manicured fingers for the elf, shrieking like banshee. Elda knew those tentacles well, the white-hot mass burning the flesh of Anora's tender ankle. Hand darting out, she reached out for Anora and caught the older woman's hands, wincing when fingernails dug into her palms.

"Cut it, Alistair!" she yelled at him, and the King obeyed. With a great thrust of his sword, the tentacle was severed from the sobbing queen's leg, and Elda helped her to her feet.

They weren't getting away that easily. Ikilai finally dispatched the last of the Templars, throwing him against a wall violently and slicing his head off, the metal helmet clattering as it hit the ground. He turned on them with vicious blue eyes, his hand transforming into the same type of tentacle that had wrapped around Anora's leg and shooting it at them. Elda knocked Anora out of the way as it went straight for her heart, but Alistair cried out in anguish as it sank into his left shoulder blade.

"Alistair!" Elda cried, drawing her dagger when another tentacle exploded from his stomach. "No!"

Anora was screaming. The guards were coming; one of them helped the queen to her feet and began dragging the coughing woman away from her second dead husband. Elda began reaching out for him, not believing it, tears in her eyes, shaking her head when strong arms fastened about her own shoulders. She jerked, kicking out at the captor.

"Elda, stop it! He's gone; we have to get out of here!" Zevran shouted.

"No! No, no, no, no! He's not dead, yet, Zevran," she screamed, kicking still and trying to get to his corpse. The Antivan was stronger, however, and was pulling her away despite her protests. She began to cough violently, inhaling too much of the smoke and death around her. Her friend…Alistair…

When they made it to the entryway and she was still weeping violently, claiming he wasn't yet dead and she could save him, Zevran turned her around and shook her roughly by the shoulders. "Stop it! Stop it! Listen to me, Alistair is _dead_. You have a duty to protect yourself and our child, now stop it!"

"But Alistair—"

"Is gone!" he shouted a little unkindly. "If you don't stop it now, we'll both be killed as well."

Tears burning her eyes, the smoke not helping at all, she shook her head before nodding mutely, too choked up to actually reply. Zevran seemed to take that as consent to leave, and he lifted her into his arms as she began coughing once again in the black smoke. He carried her as one might his bride into the dark, cool night as it swallowed them whole.

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**I was actually going to have a happy-ish little ending, but your reviews changed that. You guys really have a feel for my writing and the way I make my characters suffer horribly. It's not over yet. And at least some people like the idea for a sequel. We'll see at the end. If there aren't more people on board, I don't know if I want to devote my time to it. Thanks for reading. Review if you enjoyed, please.**


	33. New Life

**Title: Snow and Ice**

**Rating: Mature**

**Warnings: Sexual content, minor language, violence, blood, use of alcohol**

**Summary: Once upon a time, a maleficar had stopped the blight. Afterwards, she'd left for the colder North, leaving love for a life of loneliness and wandering. No one was to look for her. So why was Alistair calling her back? Zev/Surana**

**Author's Note: Thank you for reading. Review please.**

* * *

Chapter 33

Her lungs were burning with smoke inhalation, eyes watery from salty tears and a dull ache so awful she was nearly blinded. Coughing a fit against her elbow, she closed her eyes as Zevran crossed the dark terrain around them. Behind, the castle was glowing with orange flames; a few servants outside were blubbering madly to each other about what had just occurred. Her rogue ignored them all, feet flying across the ground so sleekly and silently and quickly, it was as though he were not carrying her weight at all. An assassin that belonged to the night, shadows swallowing him and protecting him as a mother would pull a child to her breast.

Though she was trying, her mind could not process it. Alistair was dead, and that was the cold hard truth of it. But for a man to live through the hell of the Blight, to escape the fiery clutches of an archdemon only to die at the hands of a pathetic demon made flesh was so unbearably unfair it made her sick. Magic was controlled by emotions and states of mind, and it was an odd feeling not to have fire bursting from her flesh from the anger, cold freezing her skin as she wept. But it was even worse because she did not have any reason to control her emotions. With magic, she would have had to be careful in Zevran's arms or risk scorching him accidentally with a sudden outpouring of furious mana or otherwise harmed him. As a helpless rogue, she could weep and sob herself hoarse with abandon, and she had no reason to stop, didn't want to stop, really couldn't stop.

She remembered briefly the distaste and anger she felt at Alistair for allowing Zevran to drag her out of the white wasteland of snow and ice so long ago, an order that inevitably took her child from her, caused her to remember her humanity, her love, her old life. But she'd fallen in love with them all before during the Blight and had done so again unconsciously in her effort to kill Alaeze. Once she wished death upon him. Now her heart ached painfully in her chest at the realization that he was gone forever.

Soon the air changed from smoky and suffocating to sweet and cloy, the fragrance of grass and trees from a clearing ahead carried by the cool, silent wind. Zevran came to an abrupt stop and set her down gently in the plush leaves and silk dirt, brushing some soot from her cheek. She wiped at her eyes and pulled back her hair, tying it with the strap of cloth around her wrist. Zevran sat down beside her and put his arms around her, pulling him tight to his chest in a way she had once held Rinna, rocking her gently back and forth.

"He's gone, Zev," she whispered into the still night air, trembling. "Creators, he's gone. The entire castle and Alistair."

"I know."

Turning to see his face cast in moonlight and shadows, she asked, "What do we do now?" The question was a difficult one, and she had neither the energy nor the necessary state of mind to answer it. The demon was on her trail again, relentlessly chasing her for an entirely new reason. The castle was burning and would soon be in ruins. So much had fallen apart in such a short amount of time.

"We go to Antiva," Zevran declared, cuffing her gently under the chin, trying to sound comforting and resolute. "We still have the Crows to contend with, and I wouldn't be uncomfortable with getting as far away from your demon as possible."

Something rustled in the bushes, and though she tried to get to her feet, Zevran held her firmly down, palming a blade. A sleek and silent human figure emerged from the bushes, all porcelain skin and grace, light red hair burning like an emblem against the darkened sky. Leliana's eyes were an angry red, tear tracks down her cheeks, and it was clear by the blatant distraught written on her face that Alistair's death was known to her. Next came the rumbling of heavy footsteps and the cursing of a dwarven tongue as Oghren burst through the trees muttering angrily to himself as he tried to disengage a prickly vine wrapped around his ankle. He shook his ankle back and forth before tumbling onto the ground with an angry roar.

"Soddin' woods," he snapped, yanking on his foot.

"Alistair is dead," Leliana sobbed, stepping idly on the vine so that Oghren could unwind it. Her shoulder shook, her bow sparkling in the darkness with infused lyrium. "What do we do now?" she asked, repeating Elda's earlier question.

"You people squeal like nugs," Oghren said gruffly as he climbed to his feet. "Kings die all the time. You let the nobles and deshyrs handle that kind of stuff. Warriors are for fighting. They'll sort it out." His beady little eyes shone in the moonlight like obsidian. Up close, Elda could see that parts of his extensive beard were singed; he only had one battle cuff and no helmet. He must have gotten dressed in haste.

"Elda and I are going to Antiva, no matter who is dead," Zevran answered Leliana easily, tone dark but firm. Alistair and he had never been very close, but Elda could tell by the set of his shoulders and minute changes in his voice that he, too, was mourning the loss of their friend.

"I'm a mage, and a demon killed the king. Only a matter of time before the chantry decides I'm responsible for Alistair's death," Elda muttered from the ground. She knew how relentless the Chantry could be, and Elda's record wasn't exactly squeaky clean. Jowan's betrayal had scarred her past in many ways, especially in the eyes of the Templars. Just then, she noticed her ratty emergency pack sitting next to them, her useless staff lying on the ground beside them, unfamiliar yet familiar, useless but comforting. Addressing Zevran, she said, "You actually remembered my pack?"

He shrugged. "Better to be prepared. They have always been packed and ready for us in case we needed them. They were close for our impending trip to Antiva."

"If we're going to Antiva, we'll need to leave as soon as we can," Leliana sniffled, wiping at her eyes. "There'll be a city-wide search after this. People will be rioting. They'll all want answers. None of the boats are going to be available once news gets out."

"The port is only a few miles away; we can head there now and be on our way before the guard can sort through the rubble," Zevran said, standing up.

Elda felt exhausted, world-weary. "If we run now..." she paused, "we'll never be able to come back. This is almost an admission of guilt. I'll become a convenient scapegoat for Anora to soothe the people's nerves."

"I ain't going to Antiva for good," Oghren huffed. "I'll stay on the surface, but I'm staying near Orzammar." She wasn't surprised. Often Oghren still remarked on how big the sky was and how unstable Ferelden was. Surely a trip to a foreign country would make him all the more uneasy.

Zevran was helping Elda to her feet, his hand staying on her elbow as if determined to keep her close. "Then stay here. You too, Leliana," he said. "This business of ours is dangerous."

Leliana's brow furrowed, and she stepped forward, shaking her head. "Not a chance. I'm going with you," she said. "I fought the hoarde with you. I am not afraid of assassins."

"Leliana, who are the nobles more inclined to believe? A drunken dwarf or a fully-functional human being?" Elda asked her. "You can remain behind and explain what happened. They know you have our confidence and traveled with us during the Blight. Your words will carry weight. Oghren's...well, not at all, really."

"Hey," belched Oghren.

"Who are they more inclined to believe?" the bard demanded incredulously. "I am an Orlesian bard, and you think I can argue with the queen of Ferelden and win?"

"No," Elda said, wiping the salt from her eyes, "but I think you can remind the Fereldens just how much we did for them and who made her queen in the first place. You're crafty like that, Leliana. You have a way with words, and one bumbling, pregnant Ferelden in Antiva will attract enough attention as it is." The Crows had extensive control over Antiva, she knew, and the bigger their entourage, the harder it would be to conceal themselves long enough to strike at the Masters' hearts.

"But—"she swallowed, eyes darting, "Who will help you two? You'll be all alone fighting the Crows. Their reputation alone protects the boarder. How can the two of you dream of fighting them all?"

"I have friends in Antiva," Zevran muttered. "We will not be alone. And we need not fight the entire nest, merely the Masters. One by one. Or perhaps only one Master, a significant one; it matters not. We will decide upon the details on the way to Antiva. For now we must move and do so without drawing unwanted attention."

"Stay here," Elda said, approaching the bard who seemed more and more helplessly distraught by the minute. "Keep that foul woman from lying about me, and make sure that Bann Teagan knows what happened. He'll help you. Eamon, as well."

Leliana gripped the elf's shoulders, human hands so large they easily encompassed her small, supple shoulders. "But what do I do without you? How can I fight this? What if they lock me up, too?" The word _again_ went unspoken, but Elda felt the implication.

Eyes searching back and forth over her face, Elda leaned up and kissed her cheek in an uncommon show of friendly affection, smelling the smoke from the castle, feeling the dried ashes on her lips. "Then I'll come back for you, and we'll leave together. I'm not Marjolaine, and I won't leave you to die like she did."

After a moment, Leliana nodded reluctantly, tears shimmering in her eyes. Satisfied, Elda turned to pick up her pack, heavy with clothing and weapons and sovereigns, enough to last a long trip on a boat. She kneeled down beside Oghren and smiled at him.

"You ever beat Teagan with that pickle juice thing?" she asked softly.

"Naw," Oghren snorted. "Bloody Bann cheated. He quit in the middle to go to some meeting. Surfacers. I don't care which noble it is, none of 'em would give up a drinking contest to go to a meeting."

"You should challenge him again," she smiled, patting him on the arm. "I'll miss you, you sodding dwarf."

"Aye, go on," he sniffed. "I'll do my best for you, me and the bard, here."

Kissing him on his tiny cheek, she turned her back on the both of them, sliding her hand into Zevran's and taking a deep breath. He handed her the staff, useless thing that it was, and she gripped the smooth handle tight. The weapon was unfamiliar, wrong in its shape, and she could feel the painful, pulsing cold of the magic it was infused with. As a mage, her mana used to block it out. Zevran inclined his head, gesturing for her to go first. Her choice to leave, her choice to go to Antiva. They were a long way from the docks and would need to make haste. Elda sighed as she started her trek across the wet leaves and in the direction of the nearest port where a boat would sit bathed in the dim light of dawn, ready to take her to a new world and him to an old one.

They walked for hours, neither one saying a word. The burning castle threw bright orange flames into the sky, a massive, tragic bonfire for all of Ferelden to see, reminding her of the fires of the Dalish camps. As she traversed more and more ground, her lungs burned after breathing all that smoke, throat hoarse and dry. There was no water, however. She had several burns on her arms and legs, red splotches of pain that itched from their dryness. Still, she didn't say anything and only gripped Zevran's hand all the tighter.

When finally the sun rose high above the horizon and threw lush pinks and reds across the world did they reach the boat. Zevran bought from a kindly human man—he was old with the biggest, bushiest beard she had ever seen and large eyebrows that nearly grew over his cloudy blue eyes—their ticket,s and they boarded the ship. Suddenly the ground didn't seem so solid, and Elda shrunk further against Zevran, closing her eyes and blocking it all out. Her burns and lungs ached.

She hadn't looked back once when she had heard Leliana's quiet sobbing or Oghren's clearing his throat. She hadn't glanced back at the burning castle or even at the ground they had covered, but she looked back then, drinking in the sight of Ferelden in all its glory. Despite the injuries it had caused her, it was her home. She felt a certain patriotism for it, and in that moment she wished she could see the tower in the distance. What a grand thing it would be to sail away with that awful phallus structure in sight, similar to the day that Duncan first recruited her, and she was rescued from Chantry's tyranny.

The feeling of freedom was overwhelming, the guilt over Alistair's death crushing, and the anxiety over what was to come made her want to take off again to the snowy wastelands.

She would have fallen had Zevran not been there to catch her.

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**Thanks for reading. Review please.**


	34. Antiva

**Title: Snow and Ice**

**Rating: Mature**

**Warnings: Sexual content, minor language, violence, blood, use of alcohol**

**Summary: Once upon a time, a maleficar had stopped the blight. Afterwards, she'd left for the colder North, leaving love for a life of loneliness and wandering. No one was to look for her. So why was Alistair calling her back? Zev/Surana**

**Author's Note: And we are back to where we began. Thank you for reading. Review, please.**

* * *

Chapter 34

The room she was staying in was nice for a boat of such small size. She'd say it was just a little bit bigger than the bathing room in the castle, their bed just a little bit larger than the stone bathtubs in Orzammar. Plush and worn, a dark-colored duvet was tossed over their thin bed. Other than that, few decorations were abound. Both their packs sat in a corner, forgotten until one of them needed a change of clothes. There was a bucket in the corner for bathroom breaks and a deep basin for washing in. Most of their meals were given to them in their cabin, and she ate on the bed while Zevran sharpened his blades on the floor and nibbled on spare bits of bread, insisting that she take his share as she was carrying his child.

She was leaning over the bucket, retching pathetically the nice dinner she had just consumed while Zevran held back her hair with a grin on his face. The sound was horrible, and her throat was sore from constantly vomiting. It wasn't the occasional bothering rock of the boat but morning sickness—a common illness during pregnancy—that was causing her so much trouble. Hand reaching out for a plain white towel, she wiped the greasiness from her mouth and folded herself into a ball on the floor. Zevran moved the bucket to the side.

"Doing all right down there?" he asked cheerfully while she groaned.

"I've been through all of this before, but it still is just as horrible as the last time," she mumbled into her arm, stomach turning as the boat rocked. Her hand found the rock hard bulge on her stomach. "I don't know how long I can put up with this."

"Do you want me to get Mathilda?" he asked, patting her hair down. Mathilda was a lovely Antivan woman on her way back home who had shown a particular kindness to Elda because of her pregnancy. She'd shared the secret of warm milk settling the baby down for nights though Rinna hadn't really started kicking yet and had only encouraging things to say. In a way, though she was a dwarf, Mathilda reminded her of Vrinda.

"No, don't bother her," she told him, grabbing his hand before he could stand completely. "Just stay with me."

Zevran scooted the bucket full of foul-smelling vomit to the side and lay down with his elbow holding up his head, her slightly bulging stomach filling the small gap he left between them, one hand caressing her pointed ear. She appeared so fragile in that moment, so beautiful but breakable. Outside of their room the inhabitants of the boat were having a nighttime party, clad all in expensive gowns and beautiful silk suits, faces painted white and pale. The native language on the boat seemed to be Antivan, and while it proved a challenge to Elda, Zevran was more than happy to return to his own language. It was a bit like returning home in itself.

Outside the laughter was raucous and filled with joy. These people were heading home, dwarves and elves and humans alike. She was heading to a whole new world to take on a power she didn't fully comprehend with something very precious inside of her; if she was completely honest, it wasn't just the morning sickness that made her nauseous. The recent death of one of her very best friends coupled with the fact that she had just left the only other two people alive she could trust besides Zevran wasn't helping either. There was still what to do about Alaeze to consider. Would she have to murder an innocent ten-year-old? With Alistair gone, there was nothing she could do besides keep the girl safe herself. It put a whole new spin on keeping ones enemies close.

But would it be so bad to take the elf and raise her as her own? She was unlikely to have any more children as Rinna was a product of a miracle itself, and miracles didn't happen often. The responsibility and time and effort might prove to be too much. Having a new baby was one thing, but adopting a ten-year-old girl was another. Would Zevran be ready for that? Would he be ready to fall in love with a child who could still, through some circumstance, kill him? One who already had in another life? And what if, upon looking at that child's face, Elda felt something other than compassion and pity for the tired, broken thing? What if she felt the same blind fury and hatred that had possessed her to feed the elven mage to a pack of demons? What if she resented the child because it was, after all, Alaeze's doing that had forced her to give up her powers? Would Alaeze just be a reminder of that?

There were so many questions, but she didn't dare voice them aloud. She didn't feel well enough for a serious conversation about their future and didn't want to burden Zevran with her thoughts. She was certain, however, that he was having the same thoughts.

For the past few days, in between bouts of nausea and vomiting, she'd been telling him about their other life, the one he didn't know about. She outlined the events once again surrounding Ikilai and had explained to him her life in the frozen wasteland with Rinna. She told him of the Dalish camp that had taken her in and the various tattoos that used to cover her arms and legs. It was nice to speak with him about, but she became slightly sad when thinking about those events. She didn't regret 'throwing back time' but those memories weren't real anymore. They didn't mean anything to anyone but her.

Another gag fought its way to the forefront of her mouth, and her arm latched onto the bucket like a lifeline, making awful retching noises as Zevran held back her hair. Three quick raps in succession on the door had her moaning in annoyance. Zevran went to open it.

"Mathilda! What a joy it is to have you here!" Zevran smiled as politely as possible, opening the door for her to come inside.

The dwarf smiled at him in kind, her dark black hair pulled into an unceremonious bun, a few tendrils falling on her face. Like most dwarves, she was all arms and legs, a plump body in the middle, and a pudgy, sugar plumb face. She was pale and had dark black eyes, beady like Oghren. Her full lips quirked as she took in the sight of Elda on the floor.

"I thought you looked a little green, my dear," she tisked. "I brought something that should settle our little mother's stomach."

Panting as she lay on the floor again, Elda groaned. "If you think it's possible for me to swallow anything right now, you're mad."

From her pocket, the dwarf produced a small vial of purple liquid, thick and slopping stickily around in the glass like molasses. "Just one spoonful and you'll be completely cured." The mere sight of it made her sick again, and she dove for the bucket.

Clucking her tongue, Mathilda kneeled beside Elda and lifted her head after she was finished, fishing out a spoon from her pocket. "You're absolutely mad," Elda said, shaking her head.

The lid came off noisily and was set gently on the floor. A strong smell of alcohol and sugar found its way to Elda's nose, and she made a face, reminded instantly of the tavern in Denerim. "Creators, that's foul," she gagged.

"Don't worry yourself, child," crooned the dwarf, beady eyes kind and comforting. "You just swallow this, and you'll be right as rain." The purple liquid was about as compliant as honey when one wants it from the jar, clinging clumsily to the spoon and the jar at the same time, spilling over. The dwarf held it to Elda's lips, and she felt her stomach roll. "Come on, now," Mathilda said, pressing the sticky substance to her small mouth.

Tentatively, Elda opened her mouth and felt the gell-like substance roll on her tongue, swallowing it with a cough. If she had thought the smell was foul, the taste was horrendous. It burned as it touched her tongue and then carved a cold path down her gullet as if she'd swallowed a live fish. Zevran raised an eyebrow at her, leaning slightly against the wall with his arms crossed.

"Old Antivan trick," Mathilda winked at him. "All the housewives know it. Your momma might have used it, boy."

"I sincerely doubt that, my lovely dwarf," Zevran replied respectfully, watching Elda as her face changed from one of disgust to one of wonder. "How long does this take?"

"Should be instant," she replied, patting Elda's cheek. "How are you, honey? Doing better already?"

"What is in that?" Elda coughed into her sleeve. A slight tingling sensation was setting in all over her body, and the room seemed to be tipping more. She glanced at Mathilda and felt a laugh bubble up her throat, but she held it back by clamping a hand over her mouth. Warmth pooled in her belly, a slight fog overtaking her vision. Long ago she had experienced a similar sensation with Dalish roots that were supposed to be psychotropic, and she sincerely hoped that wasn't what was going on.

"I think it would be best that she not know," Zevran said before Mathilda could tell her. Walking over to his lover, he helped her to her feet. She stumbled at once and sagged in his arms, eyes dreamy and glazed, a small chuckle escaping her lips. Her pale face was becoming flushed, color coming back into her pink limbs.

Mathilda threw back her head and laughed. "She might be like that for quite a while! But don't worry; we'll be arriving soon. I'll just leave you to it, boy, and let you keep this bottle. The Ancestors know I'm too old to need it." And she left with the vial of purple sap lying on the bed. Zevran sighed and scooped the sagging elf into his arms, setting her on the bed and lying down next to her.

He brushed some hair away from her face as she giggled and guffawed into the pillow, her eyes staring glassy and ahead at him. "Zevran…I don't think that was such a good idea."

"No," he chuckled sweetly, eyes gazing at her with nothing but love and softness. "I think that we will throw that bottle away as soon as we are able. At least you stopped throwing up, though. That is a plus, yes?"

"Yes," she answered. The lights were throwing shadows on the walls, swaying softly as the large boat overcame each wave, the drunken patrons on their way home, fat with a hearty meal, were laughing and giggling just outside the door so loudly, Zevran wondered faintly if Elda would be able to sleep. T he heat of the candles made the room heavy and dry, the atmosphere oppressive, but he did not like to leave the room. Mostly it was for protection of Elda; though he loved his country, there were pickpockets as in every culture and dangerous men with dark hearts. Other than that, he simply didn't feel like socializing. He loved death, destruction, and he wasn't ready to begin making 'friends of the family' just yet.

She curled closer to him, her breath becoming deeper and softer, the heat of her skin warm and comforting against his own. Once he had thought himself incapable of love; that was no longer the case. He found a woman that amused him at every turn, stokes his passion in all things, and gave him something to fight for. And she was going to give him something else. The child, though he wasn't quite sure he deserved it, was something he wanted with an incalculable desire. It was a chance to fix the mistakes of his past and leave something of himself behind in the coming world.

He wiped the thin layer of sickly sweat from her brow with one finger, trailing it over her plump lips and leaning down to breath in her scent, burying his head against her collarbone. She smelled of spices, incense, and, unfortunately, vomit. That would have to wait to be fixed, however. Snuggled in her embrace, he was disinclined to move.

A silvery strand of hair fell over her face as he kissed her nose, and he whispered in her pointed ear, "What a lovely wife you would make."

"Is that a proposal?" she slurred, snuggling closer.

"Take it as you will," he replied.

"Yes," she tilted her head back, shining blue eyes staring straight into his. She kissed him, tasting of stomach acid and digested food. He didn't pull back, though, tasting beneath that the cloy scent that was uniquely her.

"Go to sleep," he said, pulling back. "Go to sleep."

She did, right against his chest, an Antivan lullaby lulling her to sleep.

* * *

When she woke it was with a horrible, churning sensation in her stomach and sand in her eyes. She sat up rather abruptly, hand going to her eyes to rub angrily at them. It had to be late. The spot beside her was cold, the blankets completely undisturbed. Where was Zevran, and why wasn't he with her? She gently put her feet on the wooden floor of the ship, stumbling slightly as a bit of turbulence threw her off balance. She would never get used to the tossing of the ground beneath her. She liked her earth very solid. Zevran had insured her it would get better; she didn't believe him yet.

Sliding on a fur-lined housecoat that went down to her knees and the tiny, leather shoes onto her feet, she went to open the door. A blast of cold sea air, rich with salt and freshness, blew gently at her hair, caressing her face in greeting. Outside of that room the air was so much cleaner, and she could breathe again. On the horizon the sun was just peaking above it, tentatively throwing rainbow colors into the clouds and turning the water the color of blood. She padded to the side of the boat and held tight to the railing, glancing over.

Water churned below, heavy waves rolling against the side of the ship as though determined to throw its intrusive presence out of the water. She felt her stomach give a flip and turned away, her back to the sea, panting and holding her arms around her. For a mage of the tower, the sea was incredible from that close but also exhilaratingly terrifying. When the breeze came at her face again, she lifted her chin up and felt a light spray across her face. Her heart quickened, and she felt a smile curl her lips.

"What's momma wolf doing out here?" Mathilda called over the roaring of the ocean. "You should be in bed. Where is that pesky husband of yours that he's letting you wander around out here?" Her voice became nasally and intrusive as she approached and grabbed Elda's arm to steer her away from the side. "What a useless man! You don't leave a pregnant woman on a boat full of strangers. All these boys don't know how to treat a lady anymore."

Chuckling good-naturedly, Elda stopped and pried the dwarf's tiny fingers from her arm. "Zevran is not my husband, and I can take care of myself. Don't worry. Have you see him?"

"Not your husband?" Mathilda demanded incredulously, eyes flying to her stomach. "I'm sorry, but I assumed with the ring on your finger…"

Elda glanced at her hands, saying, "No, these rings are just—" and then she paused and examined her left hand. Next to the slightly faded ring she'd gotten from the tower was a newer, shinier silver band with a small, blue sapphire placed directly in the middle of it. She didn't know where it had come from or why she hadn't noticed it. She stared into sparkling gem and saw reflected in it the sea and faded stars above. "They're old," she finished her sentence, fingers touching the band as though it might disappear at any moment. Putting a hand on the dwarf's shoulder, she asked, "Have you seen Zevran?"

"He was chatting away with one of those elf lads last I saw him over by the front of the ship," she said after a thoughtful pause. "You should have seen that boy blush!" Then she threw back her head and cackled. "You can tell he's Antivan, your Zevran!"

"Thank you," Elda said while smiling. She patted Mathilda on the shoulder and headed off in the direction of the front of the ship, listening for any hint of Zevran's low voice. She knew the elf that Mathilda had spoken of, a quiet, well-informed boy that Zevran had introduced to her upon boarding the ship. Covering her belly protectively, Elda shrank against the side of the ship as a young human stumbled laughingly in front of her, breasts thrust forward over her tight red dress. Obviously drunk, the woman stopped to peer at her before going on.

At the helm of the ship Zevran stood chatting casually in Antivan with his arm resting against the railing, making small gestures with his deft hands. The boy stood opposite, arm slung around a protruding object from the ship, nodding and in one hand holding a serving tray. The party must have lasted all night, she figured, judging by the bags beneath the servant's eyes. Yellow light from the rising sun lit Zevran's skin on fire, toasting it to a light bronze and setting off his golden hair. The green from his dragon scale armor glistened respectively, dagger secured in his calf and two on his back. Always the diligent Crow, ready to fight a moment's notice.

When she approached, Zevran's eyes glanced at her and then took a second look, straightening and giving her a lopsided grin. He kissed her sweetly on the mouth and put an arm around her waist, instantly drawing her to him.

"Barjin and I were just speaking of a friend of mine who might be able to help us," he told her.

"Sure," she said. "Whatever helps."

Barjin shook his head. "Delthea is dangerous, Zevran." His accent was thick, and Elda realized it was the first time she had heard him speak. "We call her witch for a reason."

"It's the best route; we can't defeat this evil without Elda's powers."

"What?" Elda demanded. "What are you talking about?"

"Bad times if Delthea is best route," Barjin said in his broken Ferelden. "Will eat your bones first. There is always catch. Do not do this, Zevran." And there was something pleading in his eyes, fingers poised as if he wanted to shake his friend by the shoulders and shout at him. Elda got the feeling that Barjin was not 'just a friend' as she had originally thought.

"I have no other choice," Zevran shrugged. "She knows about the Fade more than anyone in all of Antiva. She knows demons and their capabilities. If there is a way, she will know it."

"A high price to pay for such knowledge," Barjin said despairingly. "I would try to dissuade, but you will not be moved."

Zevran stepped forward, arm sliding out from around her waist, and clasped a hand on Barjin's lithe shoulder. He told him something in rapid Antivan, a dialect she did not understand whatsoever. Barjin nodded once, replying just as rapidly with something like desperation and cold resignation in his tone. From his loose pants, Barjin produced a thin, yellowing piece of paper that she recognized instantly as a map and pointed a mark out on it, gesturing a few times as he spoke, potentially explaining the route. Zevran raised an eyebrow and asked him a question. Barjin nodded, outlining an invisible shape in the air. Then he handed the map to Zevran.

"Thank you, my friend," Zevran said, folding the map up.

Barjin inclined his head in what looked a respectful bow before beginning to walk away. He paused and glanced at Elda from head to tow before making a comment in his own language to Zevran. A grin split the Crow's face as Barjin departed at last.

"What did he say?" she asked when the man was out of earshot.

"He said you are very beautiful," Zevran said, lacing his finger with hers.

"No, he didn't," she said, wriggling out of his grasp. "You say it often enough in your language that I know what that sounds like. What did he really say?"

Zevran sighed. "He said, 'I never thought you would take a wife.'"

She held up her fingers, wiggling them as she glared at the ring on her finger. "Were you going to ask my permission or just take me along for the ride?"

"If you're lucky, I might," he said, taking her fingers and kissing the ring. "I had planned on giving you this before you woke up with such a bad memory and a riveting story of a future that never happened. We cannot be a proper family without being husband and wife, can we?"

"I suppose not," she said, oddly dazed by the thought of marrying Zevran. She had been his lover for so long and carried his child, but to claim the title of wife was a dizzying thought.

Then Zevran's smile got even bigger, and he turned her about by the shoulders. "There, my lovely betrothed, is Antiva."

* * *

**Thanks for reading. Let me know if you liked it.**


	35. The Inn

**Title: Snow and Ice**

**Rating: Mature**

**Warnings: Sexual content, minor language, violence, blood, use of alcohol**

**Summary: Once upon a time, a maleficar had stopped the blight. Afterwards, she'd left for the colder North, leaving love for a life of loneliness and wandering. No one was to look for her. So why was Alistair calling her back? Zev/Surana**

**Author's Note: And we are back to where we began. Thank you for reading. Review, please.**

* * *

Chapter 35

The port was relatively swamped with family members set to run exuberantly into the arms of returning Antivans. Over the din of voices, the language swelled into an indistinct buzzing in her ears. The sun was hot on her back, unkind and relentless and so very different from the Ferelden sun. Also, there was the smell. Always she had been offended when the Zevran said Ferelden smelled of dogs and mud. It was true, but she had doubted his home had smelled much better. Of course, it did. Rich wines and pungent perfumes wafted through the air. Buildings loomed in the distance, squashed together indecently with a blocky, foreign style she did not recognize. Great sunroofs protruded from the brick buildings to protect the dark-skinned Antivans from the heat of the day. Stalls lined the port, men with quick voices and thick accents shouting at them as the rest of the passengers filed off the ship.

Zevran took a deep breath beside her. "Ah, Antiva City. It is good to be home," he admitted.

Hot sand and dirt moved beneath her feet, the city cast in an orange glow that reminded her distinctly of Zevran's skin when he had first arrived. A shout drew her attention immediately to a woman charging them like a bronto. She threw herself into Zevran's arms with an exclamation of surprise, plump breasts crushed against his large chest. She had full lips, a thick accent, and beautiful blonde hair that was yanked back into a ponytail that went clear down to the middle of her back. The bodice she was wearing was at least three times too small, choking her and distorting her otherwise normal, elven body.

"Arana!" Zevran exclaimed, hands hooking around her waist to twirl her around. She threw back her small head and laughed, ears pointed and extending largely from her head unlike Elda's own. Zevran set her down and then began a conversation in his own language while Arana stood with her hands clasped together, listening eagerly.

Elda was overwhelmed with the sight of the city. So much grander than Ferelden, the buildings stood tall and more than a few dwarves walked in the streets. Elves sauntered past with baskets of fruits and vegetables in their arms, and humans spoke with them in that quick tongue just as normally as if they were elves themselves. There was a mutual tension between elves and humans in Antiva; Zevran had told her of it. He had also said that it was much less of a problem than in Ferelden. She could scarcely believe it.

Zevran's arm hooked around her shoulders and pulled her closer, pointing to her and then to himself, possibly explaining to Arana just what she meant to him. She couldn't understand a word of it, and that was the exact problem with learning the language out of a book. With excitement and emotions thrown into the mix, the few phrases she learned were hard to make out. Plus, she was sure, Arana was slurring her words together. Whatever he said, Arana crossed her arms and leaned back, bulging skirt barely folding as she did so. Elda wondered faintly if there were a mesh-iron cage beneath it like the nobles sometimes wore. The woman frowned before searching Elda's face and clucking her tongue. Something like disappointment radiated off of her.

Elda interrupted him by whispering in his ear. "Just how many ex-lovers do you have?" she demanded, pinching his arm.

Laughing nervously, he smiled. "Perhaps too many. We should avoid them at all costs. Arana, however, is not an ex-lover. I have just told her of our desire to see Delthea."

"Delthea!" Arana exclaimed, throwing up her arms. Her face twisted in disgust. "You are a fool, Arainai. Why should she help you?" The last words were said with contempt, and she marched forward to poke Zevran in the chest with one tiny finger.

An argument broke out between them, Zevran smiling sheepishly the entire time as though being scolded by an irate teacher. Arana did not seem to think any of it was funny and pointed and gasped at him, shoving him finally before letting her shoulders sink. Elda got the impression she was a fiery thing but ran out of steam quickly. Arana muttered something softly, and Zevran nodded. Sighing, she threw a thumb over her shoulder and then kissed his cheek before walking off, solemn and drooping.

"This is going to get annoying very quickly," Elda surmised, referring to her inability to understand his conversations.

"Don't worry," Zevran said reassuringly. "A few months and you'll be speaking better than I can. Now we go to the inn and try to formulate a plan. Delthea lives in the West Swamps, a place very similar to Morrigan's haunt. I wonder if the woman will be just as charming, as well?" he mused thoughtfully before grabbing her hand and pulling her forward.

The rest of the day was spent with Zevran stopping at a few supermarkets to chat with people of all races, colors, and genders. He flirted with some and bribed others, and Elda stood with her arms around herself and watched. She learned that he could pretty much learn anything he wanted with enough coin, that the eastern part of the city was full of cutthroats and thieves, and that Zevran's upbringing made a whole lot more sense. They passed at least three brothels every four miles.

Every inn they visited was packed full because they were all so close to the port, people coming in and people going out. Zevran would thank the barkeep after trying to weasel his way in by pointing to her stomach and gesturing widely. When that failed, they would leave with their packs thrown about their shoulders. Elda asked him if he had a home they could simply stay at. Zevran had furrowed his brows and replied with:

"Not a home, exactly." Then he walked on with her hand in his.

Eventually they did find an inn, the title written, of course, in Antivan and scrawled across a piece of wood lazily nailed to the front. On the inside, it reminded her just a little of the Gnawed Noble Tavern with its various booths and crowded tables. Everyone inside was of fine dress, and she felt slightly out of place with her tattered robes and bulging stomach. Zevran was undeterred and paid for a hearty meal before leading her into a large room with silken, red sheets and a beautiful duvet. She sprawled on the couch and ate bread and meats and drank wine, talking with him the way she had before when they'd been settled around the campfire keeping watch.

After they ate, Zevran called a maid in to clean up the mess, and he used his daggers to pin the yellowing map to the table. It was not only yellowing but faded as well. She could barely make out the words, but Zevran seemed to be able to read it. He ran a finger over a dark splotch in the left corner.

"Delthea is a Witch of the Wilds, to use your tongue, so no one will speak of her," he said, golden eyes glittering like coins in the firelight. "I have a vague outline of where I believe she resides, so we may be traipsing through the undergrowth for quite a while." He eyed her stomach warily.

"Zev, I'm not going to burst at the nearest sign of trouble," she sighed. "I know I look 'huge' but it's just a few months along. Trust me, I'll get bigger."

"That will be slightly detrimental to our task, Warden," he frowned.

Holding up her hands, she sat up and replied sarcastically, "Oh, sure, of course. I'll just stop it temporarily. Sorry to be a burden. This is half your fault."

"Fault?" he asked, smiling slightly. "Half my child, my love. I know you are tired, but you mustn't take offense at everything I say."

"Sorry," she muttered, a slight blush tingeing her throat. "It's just…I feel bad for leaving Syn behind. And Alistair—" her throat caught, and she had to clear it. "I feel like I just betrayed him. I should have stayed for the funeral. He was a _King_ and my _friend_."

Zevran sighed and walked over to the other side, sitting beside her on the couch and sliding his arm around her back, folding her into his lap. "Syn was nowhere to be found and is best left in Ferelden. Alistair? I know you loved him, but he will forgive you for not staying."

"It's my fault he's dead," she muttered. "I summoned Ikilai. If it wasn't for my damned blood magic!" He cut her off with a kiss.

"Self-flagellation as always, my dear Grey Warden," he whispered hotly against her mouth. "You could not have known."

"But I did! It was evil and wrong," she told him, threading her fingers through his hair. "Wynne was right about me all along. Now I've killed her surrogate son and doomed Ferelden to Anora's reign. What a fool I was to think everything could be all right again." The truth of her words was crushing, and she winced when Zevran dug his fingernails into her back warningly. He didn't like it when she blamed herself for anything.

"So you're imperfect," he kissed her again, drawing it out this time so that she moaned when he drew back. "Welcome to the club, my dear."

"I'm horrible," she pecked his mouth, feeling a twinge of arousal as he shifted beneath her, smiling as their lips locked, eyes open. She had never kissed Jowan with her eyes open. She did it often with Zevran. There was something enchanting about the blurry obscurity of his eyes when he wanted her so badly.

Suddenly he was kissing her eyelids and the soft, warm tears that fell down her porcelain cheeks. "You're beautiful," he whispered reassuringly, hands ghosting up her sides and slowly untying the robes. "Whatever mistakes you have made in the past make no difference now. We are here, and we are alive. Our child is alive. That is all that matters."

When he undid the clasp on her hair, which was when the maid bustled in. Blushing clear to her toes, the woman excused and apologized until she was almost purple, setting fresh towels on the bed while Elda smothered her laughter into his neck. The woman bowed and exited the room with a very quiet shutting of the door. When she was finally gone, Elda kissed Zevran's cheek and climbed off him, fixing her robes.

"What a horrible woman to ruin the mood like that," Zevran tisked playfully, leaning back into the small couch.

"She was very polite," Elda smiled at him, yanking her hair back into a ponytail.

"Yes, she was," he conceded before glancing her up and down, taking in the shape of her body with a hungry burning in his eyes. Standing in the light of the fire, her luminescent skin glowed like the older times when she was seemingly made of magic and stardust. She would be rather out of place in his world of dark-skinned individuals when she was nearly the color of milk. Zevran stood up and gripped her neck, pulling the clasp out of her fingers before she could fix her hair and dropping it to the ground. He swallowed her protest with a forceful kiss and pulled the drawstrings apart much more easily than before.

The black robes pooled the ground, and he ran his hands vigorously over her body, all smooth alabaster and softness. As much as he liked men, women were always preferable to him. While men were all hardness and angles, women were soft and voluptuous, less about release and more about the passion. Emotions meant more to her, and he always was sure to make her feel when he made love to her. Sweeping her into a kiss, he took a blade from his belt and cut the breast binding material from her back. She squeaked in anger at this, but he grasped her breast and pulled her even closer to him.

Her quick fingers, flexible from years of spell casting, divulged him of his belt in seconds and removed the armor covering his chest. Reverently, she traced the scars on his abdomen and snuck lower, grasping his member firmly so that he buried his head against her neck and panted as she stroked him.

"Elda," he warned softly, kissing the spot behind her ear, letting his tongue trace the outer shell and pointed tip. She let him go and began pushing him back toward the sofa. He had yet to make love to her while she was so pregnant, the side effects of such making her vomit incessantly. That was quite the problem to get around. A light fluttering in her chest, she forced him to sit down, and he pulled her atop him, burying himself to the hilt in one swift motion. She cried out loudly.

Perhaps it was the knowledge that she was his now and forever or maybe the thrill of being in a new place, a new city, where they would start their new life that made her so absolutely enthralled in the passion. She tried to stifle her own moans, kissing him much more than usual and using her own hands to stop the sounds from breaking forth. Of course the elf that stumbled in knew what they were doing, and she hoped that nothing would interrupt them again. She wanted nothing to break the spell, the wonderful tingling sensation and winding coil in her belly, pleasure running rampant in her veins.

When she finally did come with an explosion of ecstasy in her veins and felt him finally join her, she contented herself with putting her robes back on and then lying in his embrace, feeling him twirl her hair around his fingers and whisper sweet things to her in his own language.

"Hmmm," he murmured, "I think I should go and mingle with the others at the inn. I hope to find out more information."

"If you wish," she shrugged. "I'd really like to get something to eat if you don't mind."

"We just ate," he laughed.

"I'm not hungry," she said indignantly. "The baby is."

"Liar," he whispered teasingly.

* * *

It was much more difficult watching Zevran be an intelligence gatherer than she would have thought. She was lying low, of course, and chewing on a bowl of beef stew reverently. Food in Antiva was much better than in Ferelden. But as Zevran flirted with the guards on duty and she watched a young elf paw at him, she was slowly tightening her grip on her spoon and wishing she could do magic more than ever.

She was having those exact thoughts when a young woman of at least twenty sat down in front of her. The woman was incredibly dark-skinned with a wide mouth and large eyes that stared at her with dark brown orbs. Neck slender and moist limbs graceful as she folded them on the table, the woman was uniquely beautiful. It was the kind of beauty a person had to look for. Instead of the traditional armor a warrior might wear—for that was what she was, thin muscles and wiry frame clearly pointing that out—she wore dark robes painted with blood and caked in some places with dirt.

"Ferelden, hmm?" the woman demanded. Her accent was thick, tongue caressing the words.

"Yes," Elda swallowed. She wondered faintly if everyone in Antiva didn't know some form of her language.

She gestured to the bowl in front of her. "Food is better with wine," she said conversationally. "Would you like me to purchase some for you?" Without waiting for an answer, the woman waved the waiter over. Moments later he reappeared with a pitcher of wine and glass for each of them. The woman poured.

"My name is Chorise," she explained with a wave of her hand. "You are Elda Surana, and we have heard of you here, Hero."

"Who has heard of me?" Elda demanded around a piece of potato.

"Delthea," the woman said after sipping the wine. "We know of you. Your lover is hardly discreet in his search for us, and Delthea is interested."

"Who is _us_?" Elda asked after setting down her fork.

"Delthea," she said more slowly as if explaining to a very stupid child, but that didn't make any sense. Delthea, to Elda's knowledge, was one person. She kept referring to the woman as 'us'. Leaning close, her brown eyes sparkled. "You let Ikilai out of his cage."

A shiver of apprehension traveled down her spine, and she glared at the woman. Who was she to know such secrets? "So what if I did?"

Chorise threw back her head and laughed loudly, drawing the attention of the entire inn, including Zevran who glanced at her nervously. Elda looked at him, warning the elf with her eyes to stay put. "You know his power, don't you? Yes," she said once she had sobered, running fingers along the elf's skin. "A mage no more. Delthea can help you regain your powers."

"Why would she do that?" Elda asked, leaning closer.

"Ikilai has had many lovers," Chorise said delicately. "He has betrayed us in the past. Delthea is older than you can imagine, and she sees much pain and suffering coming into the world. You must help us end it as it was your blood that released him." Taking a swig of her wine, the woman leaned back and threw an arm over the back of the booth, dark eyes regarding her curiously. "As a mage you were very powerful. If you think he will leave you alone, you are mistaken."

"So you know why he's pursuing me?" Elda demanded.

"Of course!" she laughed again but much more softly. "Two is better than one, is it not? Oh, he can offer you much, just as he offered Delthea! But you would be a fool to take him up on his offer. Give you back your powers he can and eat your heart while he's at it."

"And Delthea? Did she take him up on his offer?" the ex-mage wondered.

Something dark flashed in Chorise's eyes, and she bared her teeth. "Magic is alluring." With a curse in what sounded like a language made of crackling flames, she slammed her fist on the table. "Aye, we did. Took him up on his promise, and he stole Delthea's eyes! _My _eyes!"

"So you _are _Delthea," Elda stated, slightly on guard. Without her powers Elda had no way of gauging the woman's ability. She couldn't even hear the dull hum of lyrium that was sure to be in one of her pockets. Only darkspawn could trigger her senses in that way.

Chorise waved her hand dismissively. "Without my eyes I content myself with the swamps on the outskirts of this wasted city. This body can go anywhere, and it can _see_. Also not as mad, capable of logical thought, and not a bloodmage. After Ikilai's betrayal, I split my mind in two. This woman is my daughter, containing the logical part of what is left of my brain. My other half, Delthea, is mad."

Elda spread her hands. She was mildly fascinated by the whole thing, but she knew of bloodmages that had done the same thing before. Morrigan had many a story about the Chasind mages that wandered half crazed into the Wilds. "So what do you want of me? You say you'll give me my powers back, but everything has a cost. What's the price?"

"_I _cannot do it," Chorise said, grinning madly. "Delthea can, however. We, as a whole, can transform you back into a mage and summon the demon. The price will be revealed upon your meeting with us." With that, the woman stood, but Elda got to her feet and caught her hand. Immediately an electric shock of pure energy seared the flesh that touched Chorise, and Elda leaped back with a cry of pain.

Chorise turned back with a wicked smile, pointed teeth glinting in the poor candlelight. "Meet us in the swamps. We will discuss it more there."

Elda felt Zevran's arm around her, his body ready for attack, all tense muscles and fierceness. The pain was excruciating, the palm of her hand blistered raw and coated an angry red. She was holding her wrist and examining it in despair. It was the same hand she had burned so badly six years into the future. It was not as bad as before, but she still wondered as the smell of burnt flesh permeated the air if she would have feeling or not. The mage exited the tavern with grace and a swiftness that reminded Elda vaguely of a fox. Zevran's hand fastened around her wrist.

"Come, we need to take care of that." Whimpering, she allowed him to guide her gently to the room.

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**Thanks for reading. Review please.**


	36. Arcelle

**Title: Snow and Ice**

**Rating: Mature**

**Warnings: Sexual content, minor language, violence, blood, use of alcohol**

**Summary: Once upon a time, a maleficar had stopped the blight. Afterwards, she'd left for the colder North, leaving love for a life of loneliness and wandering. No one was to look for her. So why was Alistair calling her back? Zev/Surana**

**Author's Note: And we are back to where we began. Thank you for reading. Review, please.**

* * *

Chapter 36

"That omniscient bitch!" Elda snarled as Zevran wrapped the bandage tighter around her hand. It was a bloody, angry red, and the blisters were swelling with liquid. Parts of the flesh were nearly burned black. She had been cursing the stranger for the last half hour. "She knew! She knew this was the hand I had burned before. She knew it!"

"_You _grabbed _her_, Warden," Zevran told her calmly. "You should not grab strangers, witches or no." His nail accidentally scraped a patch of blackened skin, and she shrieked, covering her mouth with her hand and feeling tears prick in her eyes. "Sorry."

When she tried to wriggler her fingers, the skin actually cracked, flakes of burned flesh falling to the ground. "We have to go to her now," Elda said, feeling a tear roll down her cheek. "I'll need a powerful mage to heal this mess. Infection is a distinct possibility as well."

Zevran removed another roll of bandages from his pack and began to slowly wrap the rest of the hand, weaving in and out of the skeletal, noir fingers as gently as he could. "To think that young woman was Delthea…" he said to fill the silence.

"It wasn't," Elda said quietly. "That was Delthea's daughter's body. Delthea has split her persona into two parts, two separate bodies and two separate entities. It's a hard spell to perform and even more difficult to maintain. She may be more powerful than even Flemeth." The thought was not comforting. With the help of Alistair, Wynne, and Zevran she had been able to take the woman down after the witch turned into a raging dragon hell bent on burning Elda to death. She had walked away with quite a few scars, and Alistair had broken two ribs and his leg. Elda wouldn't have the tactical advantage of a full party to fight Delthea if it came to that.

Zevran tied the bandage and then tilted her chin up with one finger. "I can see you planning out an attack, but I don't want it to come to that. If Delthea can get your powers back from that demon then we want her on our side. And we won't be going alone." The bed dipped as he stood up and grabbed a pewter cup from the dresser.

"What do you mean?" Elda demanded, letting her useless hand fall in her lap. Sharp pain shot through her as her hand made contact with her thighs. "Ow."

"I have a friend I would like to call on before we leave. She owes me a favor," he replied with his back turned. The strangest thing came over him while he was standing there. His back seemed tense as he spoke of his 'friend', and there was something strained in his voice. When he came back to the bed, his face was as empty of emotion as possible. He handed her the cup full of water. "Drink. Your body has lost liquids from the burn."

"It's an isolated burn on my hand, Zev," she told him but took the water anyway and swallowed a large mouthful. There was something coppery about it, and it reminded her of blood. Setting the cup on the bedside stand, she sighed. "We should leave soon. The more time that passes, the larger I'll get. I'll just slow us down."

"We'll leave in the morning," he told her, kissing her cheek before standing up. Lazily, he stripped his leather armor and boots until he was standing in only loose cotton pants and the small amulet around his neck. He knelt on the ground and helped her remove her own shoes, kissing each leg as he set it down. By the time he was finished, she was smiling. Almost reverently, his hands slid up the smoothness of her legs, bunching up the edge of her robes to reveal milky thighs. Yanking her closer, she fell backward onto the bed, catching herself with her elbows and feeling a twinge of pain from her hand.

Zevran lifted her up by the waist and continued to hitch up her robes well over the soft curve of her belly up to her small, plump breasts. He was straddling her hips by that point, careful not to put any weight on her for the baby's sake and helping her remove the sleeves. Eventually the cloth was bunched up and tossed over the side of the bed, and Zevran shifted so that he was lying beside her, thumb caressing her cheek, nose pressed against the crook of her neck and breathing in the scent of spice and incense. Her unwrapped hand curled around his tattooed bicep, and she turned into his warmth, snuggling against his shape and fitting perfectly into his arms. Just like that they fell asleep.

…

When she woke up the next morning it was to a buffet of arranged meats and dried fruits. Zevran was in his respective corner sharpening his blades as he was wont to do and gave her a kiss when she woke up. After eating, she quickly yanked on her clothes and weapons and lugged her backpack onto her shoulder. Unfortunately her armor had been consumed in the fire. All she had left were her very expensive battle robes and a few civilian outfits to blend in. Reluctantly she grabbed her staff as they paid for their room and headed further into the heart of Antiva.

Zevran was very tight-lipped about his friend that they were going to see. All that Elda could surmise was that she obviously lived in a very poor neighborhood. Diseased homeless on the street begged her for coin as she passed, children running about in rags, the smell of urine and garbage getting stronger with each footstep. Though it was probably very poor manners, Elda actually had to cover her nose as her eyes watered. When at last Zevran stopped, it was at a very large door to a very small house painted red with a warning written in blood across it. Zevran put a hand on her arm.

"It's best if you don't talk and just stay behind me," he said. "Arcelle has volatile staff."

"I'm with you," she said, nodding. He squeezed her hand once before knocking three times, very short and sharp raps with his knuckles. Moments later the door opened.

The human that answered towered over them in all respects. If not for his light skin, Elda would have though him to be Qunari. His chest had to eclipse her at least twice. Huge, green eyes rolled about in his head, a beer belly sticking out over his belt that was cinched just a little too tight. When he spotted Zevran, his eyes seemed to roll back in his head for a moment, lips pulling back to snarl with green teeth.

"What are you doin' back here, elf?" he roared in a booming voice. He spoke in Ferelden, which Elda found strange. "Arcelle don't want nothin' to do with you. Now get!" Just before he shut the door, Zevran moved faster than she had ever seen him move in her life. From his belt he plucked a dagger and slammed it into the door, the tip sinking into the soft wood and staying there, Zevran's fist curled around the hilt. Next his foot was wedged in between the door and the frame, and he stared up at the man with smoldering eyes. In that moment, he was bigger than the giant could ever be.

Snarling something in Antivan, Zevran took a step forward, the human backing up humbly with wide eyes. He mumbled in response, and Zevran yanked the knife from the door. He spat his next words, and then turned to her.

"Come quickly now," he said, reaching to grab her hand. "We're not welcome here."

She wanted to question exactly why they were going inside then, but simply followed silently, trusting that he knew what he was doing. The grotesque man regarded her with a sneer as she walked past him.

The inside of the hovel was disastrous. Trash and litter was piled in every corner, the smell of rot and garbage nearly overwhelming. Dead rats leaked juices all over the floor, full of moss and decay, spilled liquor glinting from a few sparse candles that lit the long hallway they were padding silently through. Laughter through closed doors could be heard, and Elda wondered just what kind of place Zevran was taking her to. Suddenly she understood his apprehension. Whoever lived in this place was certainly no honorable person. Criminals, she assumed, that owed Zevran something.

Further down the hall they moved, feet quiet on the cold, eroded stones. She scarcely breathed, feeling for perhaps the first time in a while, genuine fear. She had no idea of what to expect and only the dagger in her belt to protect herself. Competence with a blade as something she had learned over time, but it was just that. She was competent, not skilled. Zevran's hand tightened around hers as though to quell those thoughts, and they came upon a door.

Black paint was smeared across the oak, the faint scent of perfume and incense wafting from beyond the entrance. Zevran didn't bother to knock. He opened the door and then yanked her to the side as an arrow went whirling right past her head, burying itself to the hilt in the wall behind them. Her back hit the wall hard, heart kicking up a notch as she had just narrowly avoided death. Zevran craned his head around the door and spoke.

"Arcelle, I know you don't _really _want to kill me," he said in a teasing voice that Elda felt was totally inappropriate for the situation. A raucous laughter erupted from the from behind them, high-pitched and vicious. Suddenly Elda was jerked backward by the arm, yanking it nearly out of the socket as she resisted immediately. A great force smashed against the back of her legs, and she pitched forward onto her knees, reaching out for Zevran only to feel the point of a blade against her throat and cold armor at her back. From her vantage point, she could see only a male elf with a somber expression on his face in the room they had been trying to enter. It wasn't Arcelle at all that was shooting the arrows.

The woman chuckled behind her, nuzzling against her ear. Elda tried not to grimace at the sensation. "You know how to pick them, Zev. You always did. Young, beautiful, and absolutely stupid. That was the problem with Rinna, you know. No vision, no brains. Just a pretty face."

"Arcelle, I'm not here to kill you," Zevran said, still tucked into the corner by the door. If he moved, he could be shot in the back by the male elf. "I'm here to ask for your help."

"My help? How stupid do you think I am, duster?" she spat. "The Crows have been after my hide for years and then you show up at my door with this little whore in tow?"

"Watch your mouth, dwarf," Elda growled, feeling the blade bite deeper into her neck. The skin broke, and a droplet of blood fell to the floor.

"Oh, she understands that word," Arcelle chuckled. "I like you, Zev, so I'm offering you the chance to leave with only a few new scars. I told you not to come 'round here again when you told me you were with the Crows. You're bringing this on yourself. Give me the girl, and you walk."

Elda snorted. "You must be lyrium-addled."

"I'm not giving my wife away," Zevran growled, looking rather like a trapped animal. In his eyes, though, Elda could see his mind working quickly. A lover perhaps, but he was above all an assassin. "I'm not with the Crows any longer. We're both aiming to put an end to them forever which is why I am here."

"I don't believe you," the dwarf snarled in her soprano voice. "And I'm reluctant to believe for a moment that this pregnant bitch is your wife. I know you, Zevran, and you're as likely to fall in love as a bronto."

Grabbing the armored woman's glove, Elda dug her nails into the dwarf's arm. She met Zevran's eyes in the dark corridor, and most imperceptibly, he nodded. Elda threw her elbow back and struck the dwarf in the ribs, hard. At the same time, she jerked the knife away from her throat to avoid grievous injury as Arcelle put a hand to her side in pain. Zevran threw his weight against the door, shutting it with a bang. Elda pulled out her knife and plunged her fingers into Arcelle's pretty blonde hair, yanking the woman back. Arcelle shrieked and turned around to strike at her with the dagger in her hand, but Elda dodged and put her knife to the dwarf's throat instead.

Arcelle ceased all movement, tense and ready. "Drop the knife," Elda ordered. The dwarf let it go reluctantly, the dagger landing with a clatter on the ground.

"Now, you're going to order the elf behind this door to cease fire, and then we'll go and have a little talk," Elda said calmly.

"I'd sooner see you dead, Crow," she snarled in response.

"We're not with the Crows," Zevran told her, exasperated. "We're going after Delthea, and we need your help."

Elda relaxed for a moment as the dwarf furrowed her brows in confusion. At least they had gotten through to her a little bit. Arcelle peered upward at Zevran suspiciously. "And why would you be after her? What's a witch got that you want?"

"The ability to give me back my powers," Elda answered. "I'm a mage."

Arcelle snorted. "I thought I smelled the stench of blood beneath that bandage." Anger forced Elda to tighten her grip on the knife.

"Did you catch the smell of burned flesh?" she adjusted her fingers so that a bit of the blackened skin showed through, soaked in a poultice that was supposed to be knitting the flesh but only made it sticky and uncomfortable. Blood had stained the bandage from her movements, but she didn't feel the pain. She hardly felt anything with it anymore. "Courtesy of Delthea."

"Looks dead," Arcelle made a disgusted face. "Odd for a witch to burn a witch, but I never did understand mages."

"Well, Arcelle? Are you curious enough to talk peacefully, or must we negotiate with knives at each other's throats?" Zevran asked, interrupting Elda's filthy response.

Silence filled the air, and Elda could tell the woman was thinking about it. Her face became pensive, lips pursed. Dark eyes grew more serious until eventually she yelled something in Antivan, and Zevran visibly relaxed. Soft footsteps on the other side of the door could be heard as the elf approached, and then the golden knob was turned to reveal a very confused young bowman. He inquired something of her, and when she replied a bit waspishly, he shot Zevran a glance before walking down the hallway.

"Fine then, tell me your story," Arcelle snapped. "I'll listen, but I don't promise you anything."

Elda took the knife away from her throat and stowed the weapon in her belt. Zevran chuckled, and they both followed her into the room with the black door, sat down, and told her a rather made up story. Of course they couldn't really tell her that Elda had released a demon on the world to save Zevran's life. Instead, they told her a portion of the truth. As far as Arcelle knew, the demon was summoned by a different mage, and it had stolen Elda's powers. Zevran was sure to emphasize the catastrophe that Ikilai could cause upon the world and told her that only Delthea could give Elda her powers back and stop the demon. Arcelle took it all with a skeptical look on her face, which was rather pretty for such a gruff personality.

Her hair was blonde and pulled into a bun atop her small, circular head. Oghren would have approved of her body, cushioned and shapely as any dwarf woman's was. Branded on her cheek from the day she was born was that tattoo that named her casteless, circled with garish, blue tattoos that covered one eye entirely. Her lips were thin, eyes a deep green, and face thoughtful. She ordered them wine and commanded them to drink, though Elda was careful to delicately sniff hers first. Let it not be said that Zevran's teachings had gone over her head. When the tale was finished, Arcelle sat back on her chair, legs swinging off it like a child's would, and smacked her hand on the desk.

"Ancestor's think me a fool, but I think you might be telling the truth, Salroka," she told Zevran, reverting to the affectionate dwarven nickname instead of 'duster'. "That's quite the story. It's nearly too fantastical for your mind, Zev."

"And just the other day, Elda was telling me I had a grand imagination," he said cheerfully.

"No, you were telling me that I lacked one," Elda reminded him.

"Oh, yes! That was it," he smiled at her before glancing at Arcelle. "So will you help us, Arcelle? If we can eliminate this demon threat, we can take over the Crows. I can remove any evidence that you ever existed. You can get back to your life, away from these filthy thugs, back into the silks that you once possessed. Such beauty should not go to waste."

"Well, you certainly haven't run out of hot air in the last couple of years," she rolled her eyes. She spoke to Elda, jerking her head in Zev's direction. "To think that you want to marry this hopeless flatterer."

"I've been thinking that myself," Elda teased him.

Arcelle hopped off her chair, tiny legs circling her desk and going to the far wall, leaning back. "If….if there's a chance that I can get out of here, I'll help you. I didn't leave Orzammar and come here just to live like I did when I was casteless. Count me in."

Elda sighed and leaned back into her chair, relieved. Zevran stood and put a hand on her shoulder. "You won't regret this, Arcelle."

"I better not, Crow," she said, opening her green eyes and staring at him hard. "Aye, I'll help you get what you want, but in return I want my name cleared from the record books of the Crows. If I get wind that they've got one tiny bit of information on me, I'll send my entire gang against you and your pregnant missus. Got that?" She stepped forward, kicking off from the wall, a tiny thing but so very confident.

Zevran grinned with pointed teeth. "Meet us at the inn tomorrow. We leave at dawn."

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** Sorry for the delay, but I bought Fable 3 and forgot about this...again. Thanks for reading. Review please.**


	37. Abduction

**Title: Snow and Ice**

**Rating: Mature**

**Warnings: Sexual content, minor language, violence, blood, use of alcohol**

**Summary: Once upon a time, a maleficar had stopped the blight. Afterwards, she'd left for the colder North, leaving love for a life of loneliness and wandering. No one was to look for her. So why was Alistair calling her back? Zev/Surana**

**Author's Note: And we are back to where we began. Thank you for reading. Review, please.**

* * *

Chapter 37

Arcelle met them at the inn as promised, small body cloaked in heavy plate armor dyed black and splattered with old blood stains, a large axe thrown cross her back. In a way, it was sort of like having Oghren at her side again—a slightly distant, less odorous Oghren that was also female. That morning, Zevran had rewrapped the bandage on her hand that was once again soaked in her own blood. Elda feared infection, coating it again with a number of herbs and poultices that would hopefully stop the bleeding and allow the dead flesh to heal. She was certain that pregnant women were more susceptible to diseases, so she was watching it carefully. In a way, it was the perfect lure to make sure she did visit Delthea. A mage could heal the hand, a doctor would most likely cut it off.

She and Zevran were dressed lightly, he in his drakeskin leather armor and she in her old robes with a thick, black cloak thrown about her shoulders. Though it was hot, Zevran assured her it was the best way to keep the sun from burning her light-colored skin. Where they were going the sun would burn them like a fire, and the undergrowth and bugs would quickly get on her nerves. She trusted him and so dawned the horribly tawdry cloak, slightly reveling in the way it touched her skin. When she was using magic, she was nearly hypersensitive to everything. Without her powers, however, the heavy clothes didn't bother her quite so much.

After eating a heavy breakfast of dried meats and bread, they set off toward the rising sun. Elda didn't pay much attention to where they were going as she couldn't understand when they stopped to ask directions or when they spoke to each other. She learned that Arcelle could speak Ferelden but preferred Antivan. Zevran was kind enough to be the hero and translate key sentences for her until she lost interest and shuffled forward with her head down, nearly asleep. Zevran hadn't allowed her to get much rest, so afraid that she would get sick from the infection that he insisted upon changing the bandages around her hand every two hours and washing it with warm water.

Eventually buildings and people turned into dirt roads and trees, the sun indeed hot upon her back. Everyone once in a while, they would stop to sip at a riverbed and bask in the shade, her head in Zevran's lap. She even managed to get a few moments of sleep before being kicked in the shin by Arcelle and being gruffly ordered to get a move on. It was probably the pregnancy that was making her so tired, she finally considered after feeling another twinge of exhaustion flow through her. She forced herself to press on, though, refusing to be the one to slow them down. She'd walked through the frozen lakes of the Wasteland pregnant and barely surviving on the carcasses of dead wolves for the longest time. She could survive a simple walk with the right equipment and a slightly pleasant warmth from the sun.

It was in the very deepest part of the woods that the mage attacked. Of course, Elda might have been able to prevent it had she had her powers. But then, they wouldn't have been in the woods in the first place. Arcelle had paused a mile back to say she felt something following them. Zev had made a similar remark earlier, but no one could pinpoint the location of any enemies. They were in the middle of a dense patch of trees when Arcelle stepped in the trap. Elda saw it but couldn't get the words out fast enough. The sharp, pointed teeth of the trap bit down deep into the dwarf's leg, blood gushing as she let out a guttural scream and fell to the ground. Elda felt the air crackle with electricity, the clouds overhead swarming darkly as if in preparation for a storm. A ball of pure lightning energy exploded from the trees, vaporizing falling leaves and heading straight for Zev. Elda shoved him out of the way just in time, the lightning smashing against the trunk of an old oak and dissipating upon the bark with a deep scorch mark.

Arcelle hissed in pain as she tried to pry open the bear trap with her fingers, the sharp edges cutting into her gloves and leaving them slick with blood. Zevran was about to get up when Elda pushed him down. "No! Don't move," she whispered and lowered herself to the ground, crouching beside the dwarf and helping her with the contraption. Only silence and Arcelle's whimpering filled the air, birds having long flown away after sensing the magic crackling in the air. Leaves were gently blown across the ground. No other attacks came until Elda wedged her dagger between the bear trap and twisted.

Fire exploded all around them, singing Elda's hair as she scrambled back, the heat intense. Overbalancing, her head smacked the ground as she fell. Arcelle was cursing in her own language, the creaking bear trap chomping over and over, deeper and deeper into the soft flesh of her ankle. Elda couldn't imagine the agony, but the dwarf kept working it. Elda moved again as another fireball scorched the ground where she had been sitting, the singed grass throwing up smoke. She coughed and covered her mouth with a sleeve just before another explosion erupted behind her, throwing up a miasma of thick fog that was not natural.

"Elda, where are you?" Zevran demanded. She couldn't see anything, though she was certain that Arcelle was just a few feet away. Staggering away from the bear trap, she leaned against a tree.

"Right-!" she was cut off abruptly as a hand clamped onto her mouth, yanking her backwards. She stumbled, turning to jam her elbow into the hip of her attacker, pain exploding along the length of her arm as she struck cold steel. The arm moved from her mouth to choke her throat, pulling at her awkwardly as if trying to take her away as quickly as possible. She flailed, throwing her weight against the attacker and clawing at nothing but armor. Zevran was calling out for her, hearing her struggle, but he could do nothing with the suffocating miasma rising from the ground.

The strap of her ratty pack ripped as she bucked, contents rattling as they fell to the ground. Angrily, her attacker whipped her around about face only to strike her harshly against the cheek, the pain exploding in her jaw. Blood welled up from a busted lip as she stumbled back, dazed. She caught only the faintest smell of lyrium potion and saw the wispy hair of a female before she was struck again, lightning fast. The palm of the woman's hand connected right under her jaw, sending her sprawling backwards, hands flying out protectively, instinctively, over her swollen belly. She never hit ground, though, a hand darting out to catch her and yank her forward. She reached for her knife in that instant only to realize that it was gone, fallen to the ground somewhere during the struggle.

"Zev—" she tried to scream, but the fingers slammed over her mouth and chin, pulling her head back roughly and dragging her along, feet leaving a distinguishable trail in the leaves. She groaned and kicked, disturbing the dirt in as many places as she could, hoping that Zevran would be alive and well enough to follow. He could track anything. She had seen it done.

Deeper and deeper into the woods she was taken, quickly losing the strength to fight as the toll of walking all day sank in. In fact, she was becoming so tired that it was hard to keep her eyes open. A comfortable warmth was burning through her veins, the hand on her mouth no longer cold, the sharp angles of armor stabilizing her rather than torturing her. A haze settled around her vision, and she felt herself relaxing into the embrace. So much was she relaxing that the attacker was forced to pick her up rather than drag her. She did not fight. She couldn't. The strength had gone out of her limbs, and her eyes were slowly shutting as if being weighted down by iron. It was only as the woods faded into black that she realized it was a spell she had used many times.

_Sleep…_

She woke to sharp rap on the head, startling awake. Immediately the scent of blood hit her hard, making her nearly gag with the intensity of it. A fire was burning incense in the corner of the small hut, but it hardly drove out the smell of death. And that was the other thing. Death permeated the air along with the scent of lyrium. She blinked several times, forcing herself to breath through her mouth, and took in her surroundings. As far as she could tell, she was bound to a chair. Coarse rope rubbed against her wrists. In front of her was a rickety table with a ratty tablecloth thrown over it, a single cup sitting in front of her. Over on the bed was the source of the smell. The rotting corpse of what appeared to be a small child was dismembered, blood running in rivulets over the sides of the bed and onto the floor. The child appeared to have been burned, the flesh back and cracked.

That was nothing compared to the woman crouched by the fire. Elda tilted her head, hardly believing her eyes. The woman was pale, paler than the washed out moon, and layered with tiny cuts and scars on every last bit of flesh visible save for her face. Long, filthy white hair trailed down her hunched back, stained ribbons of what was once a black cloak hanging off her skeletal body. She reminded Elda at once of an insect when she turned around, a blood-stained cloth tied around her head over her eyes. The fingers of her hands were clenched side by side and pointing down like a praying mantis. The woman tilted her head and thin lips pulled back over black teeth. Elda nearly gagged.

"Awake! She's awake," the woman crowed in a hollow, ghostly voice. She craned her neck to stare at something over Elda's shoulder. "We told you, didn't we? Yes, we did! Of course, we did." Nodding to herself, she reached into the fire, spindly fingers closing around the handle of a tea kettle. She hobbled over to Elda and began pouring a green tea into the cup in front of her. "Tea is good for mothers, don't you know that? Drink lots of tea and stay out of the sun. Bad girl to be running around in the woods." Something struck Elda's leg, and she winced in pain. It was a knobbed cane that appeared to made of some type of dense wood.

"Are you…Delthea?" Elda asked, finding it difficult to belief that the ugly, old forest witch could really be so feared.

"No!" the witch turned sharply. "Silence, else you'll call in the harpy. Delthea's shell, her crust, maybe, but not Delthea. Now be silent and drink your tea!" She threw back her head and cackled loudly. Elda regarded the tiny teacup in front of her and raised an eyebrow. How exactly was she supposed to drink her tea when her hands were tied?

"Don't make that face at me, Circle mage," Delthea struck her again with the cane. "We has our ways, don't need eyes, Circle mage. Oh, we can smell it. We know them circle mages. You stink of incense when you should smell of blood! Fine, coddled little children! Hah!"

Elda couldn't help it. She snorted. "You think the circle mages are coddled? Never been there, have you?"

The witch turned back to her. "Ah, smart mouth. You've got a pretty face and a smart mouth. Must be why you've got such a full belly. The men like that. Men like a woman that's got a smart mouth. Your man especially."

"And what would you know of Zevran?"

The witch sneered, lips turning up in the corner. "Know him, know his heart. He runs from things he cannot understand. Love, fatherhood…a son of a whore does not know such words. Men lie. Mark my words," she leaned in close, the blood stains directly over empty sockets where eyes should have been, "men lie."

"You loved Ikilai, didn't you?" Elda asked softly, but it wasn't a question. Pity moved her heart as she looked at the woman.

"Love," the witch sneered. She threw up a hand dismissively and hobbled back over to the fireplace. "Demons feel no love, no sympathy, nothing but greed. Why should we love a demon? Not a man, but yes, demons lie. Liar. Destroyer."

The door opened suddenly, breaking the tension. It was Chorise—the woman from the inn—that entered with a fire burning slowly in her hand, blue flames illuminating the questioning look on her face. Heavy, metal armor dwarfed the human woman's body, clattering with each step she took. Elda knew immediately that it was Chorise that had kidnapped her and glared. The witch sniffed the air before shrinking back as thought frightened. Snuffing out the flames in her hand, Chorise cast a bored glance at Elda. She took a few steps forward.

"Delthea, I told you to come get me when she awoke," she said calmly as though gently reminding the woman rather than chastising her.

"Back, harpy!" the witch snapped, cutting the air with her cane. "Interruptions! Why come back? You have your eyes, so why come back?"

"Calm yourself, witch," Chorise said. "Stir your pot if it will calm you, we will not need you for a moment anyway."

"So smart," the witch crooned sarcastically. "Thinks she knows how to calm Delthea! Ungrateful daughter in life and in death. We treat ourself with such scorn!" Nevertheless, the witch hobbled back over to her pot suspended over the fire and grabbed it from the flames without a thought, proceeding to make more tea. Chorise gave a sigh.

As Delthea went to work grumbling, Chorise took the chair across from Elda and leaned back. "Tell me, elf, does it sadden that if you had your powers, you could escape?"

"I think you know the answer to that, kidnapper," Elda spat. "What have you done with Zevran?"

Chorise chuckled. "He is alive and well, just as you are. I suppose he might have a few bumps and bruises. The female dwarf is maimed and bleeding to death at this very moment."

Elda struggled against the chair. "Where are they?"

She made a dismissive gesture with her hand, seeming suddenly weary with the topic. "In the woods, where I left them. They are unimportant. What is important…" she trailed off for a moment before leaning forward and pressing a hand against the swell of Elda's belly, "is this. So many futures I have seen, all of them are including the death of the child. A child cursed by darkspawn taint is unlikely to live in this world for long. You have my sympathies."

"I'll spit on your sympathies," Elda snarled. "I refuse to accept that. My daughter will live if I have to destroy all of Ferelden. It belongs to me, anyway. _I _saved them."

"So much death cannot bring life," Chorise said sagely, taking her hand back in a slow gesture. Her fingers curled beneath her chin, slumping so that she was staring intently at the elf in front of her. "You misunderstand, anyway. Your daughter will die young, and by your own doing, you will be alive to see it."

"My own doing?" she balked. "What do you mean by that?"

Chorise laughed, and the witch behind her cringed, mumbling about noise. "Did you think when you took my hand and I took your flesh, I did not gain a little bit of insight into your life? I saw your traverse into the Fade, the steep price of eternal youth. You destroyed much, didn't you, for your vanity? For your envy of their love?"

"I sacrificed nothing," Elda sighed. "Lily was already dead, and if they had been reunited? What then? What chantry maiden can love a mage? What future did they have? Jowan was an apostate, and he belonged to _me_."

"Your love is consuming," Chorise sat back. "It is a painful, necrotic thing, isn't it?"

"What love isn't?" the smaller woman countered.

The witch—the maddened Delthea, Elda decided—dropped a steaming pot of tea in the middle of the table. "Drink, then!" she spat in hatred. She addressed Chorise. "You bring _her _into _my _house, you ungrateful harpy, wanting then to couple our souls once more! We cannot be whole."

"Silence, Delthea," Chorise said with an air of superiority, gripping Elda's tea from across the table and bringing it to her lips. "And what of your wicked ways? Drag that rotted corpse out of here. The smell is awful."

"Oh, to be the mad one!" Delthea exclaimed. "What is it like to be the working side of the soul? To watch over yourself as a child? What you do not understand is that the maddened side of you is the sanest!" She whacked Chorise's leg with the cane and hobbled away. Chorise didn't flinch when the cane smacked her leg, but Elda certainly did. For a crippled woman, she was quick with a weapon.

"Ignore her, she is unimportant," Chorise said simply. "The only thing I require of her is her power, and when we are one again, she will be gone. I have found a way to eliminate her control entirely. For the best, I assure you."

"Destroying a part of yourself is for the best?" Elda inquired.

"Bloodmage, they call you," Chorise ignored the question. "Apostate. Murderer. You know the value of sacrifice as one of us. Do not attempt to judge me."

"I think your crimes are greater than mine, don't you?"

"Oh, most certainly," Chorise conceded.

"Then what do you want from me?" Elda demanded furiously. "You offer to parley and then snatch me from my entourage. I'm bound to a chair, tell me what we can accomplish!"

"I snatched you from their care because they are unimportant," the witch told her. "The dwarven gangster is of no importance to you anymore than she is to me. Zevran I have not touched. He would coddle and console you, defend you when I need you defenseless. He is useless to you now, and so I took you from him. This ceremony is no small thing. It requires tact, a mage's will." She smacked the table with her hand. "Ikilai will not be overthrown easily!"

"He has a mortal body now," Elda said.

"Because of you," Chorise snapped. "I'm well aware. He cannot be exercised like a demon; he must be murdered like a mortal. And so we will take your powers from him to give you that advantage. You will not be powerless, and he will be weaker. You've tamed him before."

"So why don't you kill him?" she demanded heatedly. She kicked her legs out from the chair, wanting more than anything to be free from the bindings.

A low, rumbling chuckle from behind. The sound of soft satin moving over skin, and then the smell of decay was overwhelming. Delthea put a crooked, spindly hand on her shoulder and squeezed, breath across her face stinking of rot and musk. Elda turned her head and grit her teeth. The witch had removed the cloth around her eyes, two gaping black holes staring at her from a gaunt face. Blood oozed out of the sockets, ripe with pus green slime.

"We wish we could," Delthea chuckled again. "To tear out his heart and feast on it, but that is not the way."

"We will steal his power, and you will become his queen. Sink your talons into his heart and give him your corrosive love and then we will destroy him," Chorise grinned.

"You're both absolutely mad," Elda spat. "If you think I'll become a part of your sick game, you're absolutely mad. I came for the chance to regain my powers, not be wrapped in some warped revenge scheme."

Chorise's eyes softened, and she stood up. Lightly her fingers touched Elda's cheek, the faint scent of perfume wafting from her skin. "Do not worry. You will have all night to think about this. In the morning, you can give us your true answer, when we are whole again." She made a gesture to Delthea, and the old witch grumbled.

"Wait," Elda growled, "you're not taking me with you?"

Chorise blinked. "Why would we do that? We know how to join ourselves. There is no need to take you, and without your powers, you are quite helpless here. Also, I warn you that if you do manage to get out of your little chair, you best not go outside. My wolves are hungry. Delthea let their supper rot on the bed, you see."

Bile rose in Elda's throat. The lightest whisper of cloth and the clunking of Delthea's stick on the floor reached her ears as they left without another word.

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**I've actually had this typed up for days now. Sorry. Thanks for reading. Review please.**


	38. Ritual

**Title: Snow and Ice**

**Rating: Mature**

**Warnings: Sexual content, minor language, violence, blood, use of alcohol**

**Summary: Once upon a time, a maleficar had stopped the blight. Afterwards, she'd left for the colder North, leaving love for a life of loneliness and wandering. No one was to look for her. So why was Alistair calling her back? Zev/Surana**

**Author's Note: And we are back to where we began. Thank you for reading. Review, please.**

* * *

Chapter 38

Elda struggled against the bonds keeping her tied to the chair for what seemed like hours as the dogs snarled and snapped outside. Blood and pain put her in a bad mood, wrists raw and body tired from the movement. She was beginning to feel a sick as hunger passed and was replaced by nausea. Wherever Zevran was, he didn't seem capable of coming to her aid. There was nothing around she could possibly use as a weapon, and she didn't want to flip the chair and risk harming her swollen belly. With only the corpse to keep her company, she couldn't even bounce ideas off of another captive.

Eventually the fire died as morning light streamed in through the single window pane. She swallowed and lifted her head, stopping the feeble motion of twisting her bloodied hands behind her back. Strings of her white hair hung in her face, dried with sweat and grease. She glanced over at the door as it opened and Chorise entered without the company of her insane witch half.

With blurry eyes, Elda glanced over her body and could note only a little change. In the light, her skin seemed less dark. The length of her hair had changed, longer than before. Fatigue forced her to let her head hang again, taking a deep breath. Hard and insistent fingers gripped her jaw and forced her head up, cool magic like electricity over her skin. Chorise kneeled and stared into her eyes, brilliant flecks of gold buried deep into brown catching the morning light. "Can you feel it?" she whispered, pressing her cheek against Elda's and speaking in her ear. "We are again whole."

"Brilliant," Elda replied sarcastically, broken and tired as she was. The fingers were cold, the magic trying to sooth tense flesh. She resisted, keeping her wits. A hand pressed against the swell of her belly, and she held her breath.

"The baby will not be hurt by the return of your powers, but she will be changed," the witch said, moving away to cross her arms.

"Changed how?" Elda demanded.

"In every way," Chorise grinned with sharp teeth. "Infused with your own power, power gained from dealings with demons and blood magic, she may become a demon herself. Perhaps she will be the most powerful mage in all of history. Either way, she will not be the same." She made a flippant gesture with her hand, dismissing it as though it were not significant. "But we must go. The ritual must be performed when the sun is at its peak."

Producing a knife from her belt, Chorise walked around Elda and cut the ropes. Blood flowed back into the elf's hands. Her fingers barely worked. The witch clicked her tongue at the sight of her arms. Red rings around the wrists would take time to heal. Elda caught the metallic tang of blood in the air while gingerly touching her wounds. They stung with the salt on her skin. Her bandages had fallen off during her struggle, revealing the blackened flesh of her maimed hand. Chorise moved quicker than lightning, placing the knife at the hollow of the elf's throat and easing her into a standing position.

"We will go to the cavern where the dead come to life," she said, walking her out the door. "When the sun reaches the highest point in the sky, Ikilai will be at his weakest. That is when we strike. I will be able to draw your powers from him."

Chorise moved forward and opened the door, easing it with her foot. The dogs barked and growled but did not move from their places, singularly lined up side by side on either half of the door. Their fur stood on end. It was curious behavior for what appeared to be wolves.

Outside the light was blinding, burning into Elda's corneas with a fierceness that would never have been associated with the Ferelden sun. It was a humid day, the heat of the forest making it much less bearable. Leaves were wet with dew, and dark clouds gathered in the sky. Elda wondered if it was not midday already with the high temperature, but she had bigger problems than what sort of weather was due to arrive.

"Keep your mind on the task, elf," Chorise hissed in her ear. "I can draw the powers, it is true, but I will not be able to kill him without your help."

"And if I help you, if I do this thing, you will leave me and my family alone?"

"Yes," the witch replied. "You may have your whore husband and your demon child, and you may retire to a place high in the mountains where it snows every day. I will have no reason to call upon you again." The answer was not reassuring in the slightest, and Elda gritted her teeth to bite back the filthy response she was prepared to give.

They walked for what seemed like hours. Eventually Elda noticed the dogs following at their heels, two of the darker wolves from the pack that had kept guard over her all night. They snarled and snapped at her occasionally when she tried to glance back at them but were otherwise silent. What purpose they would serve, she had no idea. The sun beat down harshly as they made their way through the dense forest to a large cliff side that loomed over them and cast the forest in a shadowy darkness the closer they got.

Despite how foolish it was, she kept an eye out for Zevran. She tried to hear his rapid footfalls, so silent, over the crunching leaves. There were none. She wondered if Arcelle was even alive. The more she walked, the less faith she had in him to come and rescue her. By the time they paused just beneath the craggy cliff, she had already given up. If escape would come, it would come by her own doing.

Chorise guided her around to a small, dirt path that seemed to wind up forever. Strange plants and flowers burst to life as she passed them. Animals scurried out of the way. Just how powerful was Chorise's magic? When she had been a mage, she'd been able to feel every ripple of magic in the area. Flemeth's power had nearly sent her to her knees, and this mage seemed even more powerful. What would Chorise's magic do to her once she was able to distinguish the pull of the Fade from the rest of life again?

Even though she was kidnapped and being forced into some sort of blood ritual she knew nothing about, Elda found herself anticipating it. She ached for her magic, to see the world through a mage's eyes again. Everything was dull and lackluster without the veil of glittering magic, electricity sparking on her tongue, or the thrumming pleasure of lyrium in her veins. Everything had been alight with life, a soul, a purpose, when she had been a mage. Sharp edges had gleamed at the corners of her eyes. There had been so much more light. Now she saw things through a haze, too little information to absorb and process. Her mind would collapse if she couldn't _feel_.

Besides that, Elda had always fed on conflict. Her magic had made her a pariah, only welcome among the sordid outcast clans of the Dalish or with her friends. It gave her a reason to fight, to challenge. She could always struggle because she had a reason. And struggle was a drugging effect, hooking her in and dragging her down. It had been one of the reasons she'd wanted to kill the Archdemon—to challenge herself, to pit herself against the best and see who would come out on top. Without that how full could her life truly be?

Chorise yanked her hair back, sparks of electricity fluttering against her skin. She looked up to see herself standing under what appeared to be a large cavern carved out of the cliff face. It was expansive, the heavy rock just above her head threatening to crush at any moment. Scarce light could enter. Candles were lit along the walls as though it had recently been used. Muddied footprints led further in as Chorise pushed her forward. A small window looked out onto the forest of dense trees and dark shadows. The rotting form of Delthea's little shack could be seen from there, plumes of smoke rising up from the chimney. It seemed miles away. How long had they been walking?

Along one of the walls, drawings and handprints marred the surface. Some were made of blood, she could see. Others had been drawn and painted with kohl. A little, circular rock with a flat top had been pushed into the middle of the area. That was where Chorise guided her and bade her to kneel. As she did so, she caught the identifiable smell of death and glanced over to where it came from. Lying just beside the rock was the twisted and beaten body of Delthea. Her bleeding eyes were full of pus, the rotted meat stinking up the entire cavern. Her neck was twisted in a most unnatural fashion, all the way around so the bones were poking through the flesh of her throat. A few beads and flowers were thrown on top of her corpse. Elda had to cover her mouth so that she wouldn't vomit.

Chorise chuckled. "Oh, and this is where you are truly put to the test, little bloodmage. You are fierce and dangerous and merciless, but this is death in its truest form, and you turn away. You may think yourself unique for having tread so far into the depths of the Fade, but you have not even scratched the surface." Walking around the rock with the knife in her hand, she paused when they were face to face, so close they might have been kissing. Dipping her fingers into one of the wounds on Delthea's body, she pulled back her hand covered in jellied blood, smearing it across Elda's full lips. "Become one with death, circle mage, and no one can ever harm you again."

She kissed her, and it seared Elda's mouth so she pulled away, sputtering. Chorise laughed like a child, spinning around until there was fire in her palm, glowing blue and casting shadows on everything. Suddenly all the candles in the room sparked with a higher flame. The two dogs came to sit on either side of Elda's perch. Reaching down, Chorise grabbed the battered corpse and hauled it away toward the wall with the handprints, leaving a blood trail in her wake. Tossing the corpse against the cavern, she took the dagger in her hand and cast away the gauntlet around her forearm. The tip of the knife pressed into her wrist, blood oozing down over her fingers. Living blood, not dead blood, fell from her nails and onto the ground, soaking into the ancient earth. This was blood magic in its truest form. To use the blood of the living and the dead was like entering the Void itself. Elda swallowed and almost felt fear creeping up.

A blast of cold wind ripped at her hair where she kneeled upon the dais. Suddenly the witch was looking at her with the eyes a demon, glowing red. Evanescent waves leaked from her eyes, disappearing like smoke. She smiled, her canines so long she appeared to be a wolf herself. "Do not move," she said in a voice that was not her own, but a thousand whispers lost overtime. They overlapped and nearly made the words impossible to hear.

With a twisting of her hand, Chorise dipped the blade into her wrist and snapped the two bones that rested there, wrenching up until the cut stretched from the juncture at the palm of her hand all the way up to her elbow. Blood poured forth, stinking of death and rich magic, perfuming the air with glittering waves. Producing a bottle from a pouch at her side, Chorise sank her teeth into the cork and spit it out, dumping the contents onto the blood. It was lyrium. The two substances mingled into a single solution, the blood changing from deep red to dark purple. Glittering bits like diamonds splashed across the ground, and it seemed to take on a whole new shape in itself.

Like a wave, it spilled over the cavern floors, dousing the room in a thick and purple miasma that rose up. Sinking into Elda's skin, it began to burn like Ikilai's touch. Pain exploded across her skin. She pitched forward onto her hands, panting. Even breathing it caused her lungs to catch fire. It seemed attracted to her, as well. She couldn't even see Chorise on the opposite wall she was so enshrouded in the thick fog. Seeping into her eyes, into her nails, her skin, her mouth, her nose, it attacked. Tears gathered in her eyes, and she coughed spasmodically. Rich laughter erupted in the cavern, stinging her ears with its high pitched keening.

Suddenly she could see past the fog and hear voices. Chorise was walking forward, her teeth gleaming even in the poor light. The red hadn't changed in her eyes, still foaming upward. There was a defiant swagger in her walk, and Elda blinked past the tears to see what she was staring at.

In the middle of the room was the unmistakable form of Ikilai, but it wasn't his human form. Instead, it was the coalescing white mass she'd seen before, like floating lava twirling in the air. It seemed confused, taking on several shapes, and it took her a moment to see why. The purple miasma was attacking him as well, staining the pure white light. Bruises were appearing on the 'skin'. Whole circles of the fog were sinking into his flesh, spreading spider web cracks across the expanse of his body. The mass twisted and writhed, but she couldn't hear his voice.

Chorise's grin widened the more he writhed in what Elda could only guess was agony. The spider web like cracks were growing wider and longer across his body, and Chorise stretched out her hand. Pressing it against the white mass which twitched away from her touch, she began to whisper in a language like the cracking of a whip. The moment she began, Ikilai's body twisted even more frantically. The webs were making snapping noises as they spread, and more and more of the fog left Elda to attack this entity. Eventually she could breathe again, sitting back on her knees to watch.

A small light was gathering in Chorise's hand, burning like a sun. It was red, blood red in the room full of so much purple and white light. It began as only a small pinprick of light, but it grew until it was the size of a plum. Sweat beaded across Chorise's forehead, and Elda could feel the heat as well. Her heart was beating so fast, she could barely hear the whooshing of the wind as it whipped at her hair. Chorise's hair was blow back behind her like a waving banner. The webs had nearly consumed Ikilai, only a few specks of white visible between the chasms spread across his body.

Chorise yanked her wrist back, pulling Ikilai forward. Raising her other hand, the one she had cut, she gathered together the purple miasma and sent it straight toward him. A scream so loud and powerful that Elda felt her ears vibrating burst into the air. It was deep and hardly human, sending chills across her spine. The hair on her arms stood up, her fingers curling onto the stone before her. Chorise jerked her hand to the side, palm up, fingers together. Ikilai's form writhed into a small ball overtaken by the chasms and cracks and was thrown against the wall.

The ball shattered like a mirror. It even sounded like a mirror, glass breaking. Pieces fell to the floor and took the shape of water, seeping into the ground. The miasma followed it into the earth, and suddenly all of the purple fog was being pulled there like a beacon. As that was happening, Chorise approached with that singular ball of light clutched in her fist. It rested there, pulsating like a human heart. The dagger was back, and she put a cold finger to Elda's chin to make her lift her head up.

Agony ripped through her as Chorise gashed her throat. Separating tendon, bone, and veins made her let loose a gurgling scream. The blood poured forth almost immediately, spreading across the cloth of her shirt, and Chorise tossed the knife away to grip the back of her neck and put her fingers holding the glowing ball of light _inside _the gaping wound at her throat. Red liquid spilled over the corners of her mouth, a dizziness flooding through her. She flailed her arms, digging her nails into the cold skin of the witch before her. Her life was ebbing, she could tell. She had felt it before. Burning magic spread across her body as though she had been lit on fire.

Then it all went away.

Everything became blank. She felt nothing at all, not the frantic heaving of her chest or the wind whipping at her hair or the fingers searching and digging into the wound at her neck. Warmth spread into her moist, long limbs. Her fingers curled, but she couldn't feel the cold anymore. Instead, she could hear birds. She could smell the lyrium and blood in the air. She could see the sharpness of the world again, the glittering runes imbedded in the cavern ceiling. All at once, she knew the power of this ritual room. Ghosts and demons were embedded in the walls and the floors, their voices whispering in her ears. Their sharp fingers clawed at her mind, promises of a better life if she would only offer them a bit of blood. She could feel the Veil's thinness, the magic like a potent blanket.

Tears welled in her eyes, and she could _see_.

Chorise smiled at her and yanked her fingers out, fingers that had latched around the bone in her throat. The flesh was healing. She could feel the broken edges knitting back together. The numbness in her hand was fading, and when the gash in her throat was sufficiently fixed, she glanced down to see the blackened appendage turning pink with life. The cracked surface disappeared to reveal a healthy, white hand that Elda could flex and move without pain.

She turned and spat onto the floor gathering blood and torn skin in her throat and mouth. Crimson still stained her shirt and chin, but she didn't mind. The brilliance of the world was back. She could feel Chorise's power flowing over her skin, bathing her in soft, lapping waves. Slowly, she caught her breath. The miasma was completely gone, and even the long gash on the witch's arm was gone. Elda closed her eyes, fingers flying to her throat to touch what was healed.

"Our bargain is done, circle mage," Chorise spoke. "Slay Ikilai, and our debt will be settled."

Elda glanced up. "Didn't you just—" she cut off, clearing her throat and spitting again. "Didn't you just kill him?"

"I assaulted his demonic form and took away the magic he had gained by dealing with you," she answered, the red light fading from her brown eyes. Even the wind was dying. "He is only as powerful as he was in the Fade now, but you must end his human life. It is the only way to send him back."

"But he'll know now, won't he? He'll know that I'm a mage again," she said, relishing in the words. "How do I get close to him?"

Chorise grinned, and her form began to dissipate. At first it was just a slight fuzziness of her features. Then her body became incorporeal. She was fading. "That is your cross to bear, little witch." With a swift wind, she was gone.

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** I hope I haven't lost you all. I actually had to go back and read it all over again myself, lol. Thanks for reading. Review if you're still alive.**


	39. Searching

**Title: Snow and Ice**

**Rating: Mature**

**Warnings: Sexual content, minor language, violence, blood, use of alcohol**

**Summary: Once upon a time, a maleficar had stopped the blight. Afterwards, she'd left for the colder North, leaving love for a life of loneliness and wandering. No one was to look for her. So why was Alistair calling her back? Zev/Surana**

**AN: Thank you for reading. Review, please.**

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Chapter 39

Elda slowly got to her feet, checking her balance. There was a dull ache in her throat where the torn flesh had knitted back together, but it didn't hurt too badly. She put a hand to her stomach. The baby's heart still beat with the same ferocity it always had. She could feel it and hear it like lyrium singing in her veins. That was the difference of her magic. With it, she could sense so much more. The gentle fluttering of the breeze outside beckoned and she realized she was sticky with sweat in such a warm environment. The weight of the baby didn't help as she made her way tentatively outside the large ritual cavern.

Outside, it was brilliant. Everything was alight with color and feeling and life. Holding up her hand, she summoned her mana as though she'd never lost her power. Fire licked eagerly at her fingers, smoke curling upward in coalescing forms that reached toward the heavens before disappearing. She felt a laugh bubble up out of her throat, and she was startled for a moment. The happiness she felt was almost too much. She was a mage again. The very thing that all the world scorned her for was what made her complete. With shaking hands she pressed her palms together and felt the heat there between her palms. She held it up to her face, and the glow of a small, blue flame flickered across her pale features. Taking a breath, she blew it out and gave an exhilarated laugh.

The buzz of pleasure didn't last long, though. There was so much to do, and she worried for the baby. Chorise said that she would be changed but changed how? It was something she would have to tell Zevran the second she found him again. Her eyes roved over the forest canopy. How was she to find him in all of this? He could be anywhere, and she worried for Arcelle also. The cut had been deep, the tendons torn. She was maimed if not dead, and Zevran didn't mind cutting losses when he had to. She hoped that he would be merciful with the dwarven woman.

Then the obvious came to her, and she nearly smacked herself in the forehead. She had her magic back. If she could track Alaeze from the castle to the Pearl, then she could find Zevran in a mass of foliage just a couple hundred yards in one direction. She was sinking her pointed teeth down onto her uninjured hand in a second, using the rock face to sink to her knees and press her palm to the ground. A red cloud of pure energy bubbled from the ground. From this spot, she could hear all the animals scurrying across the ground. Birds deafened her, a roar in their numbers. Trees creaked, branches broke, and streams tumbled down sheer cliffs and tiny waterfalls.

"Zevran," she whispered into the wind and opened her eyes. A reflective pool appeared before her face like a mirror to a distant world. A dark-skinned elf was kneeling next to a dwarf, wrapping tight bandages around the woman's leg. She was swearing, a bottle of some sort of alcohol in her hand. Elda recognized it as ale from the tavern that he'd packed away before they left. Zevran worked diligently, and there was a suture lying in a cup of bloodied water. He must have carried her back to civilization because there were others walking around behind them. With deft hands, he tied the bandages and made sure they were tight, but he seemed distracted. He kept lifting his head, the wind blowing softly at his hair.

She whispered his name to the mirror and smiled when he froze and glanced around sharply. He couldn't see her no matter how hard he tried. At least she knew where he was. Getting there without food or water and being pregnant wouldn't be easy, though. She disconnected the link and wiped her bloodied palm on her robes. The sun was still high in the sky. If she started the trek, she would get there by nightfall. The only problem was that she didn't know where she was going. She could see the dilapidated shack in the middle of the forest, smoke curling up in tendrils toward the sky. The dogs were no doubt still pacing in front of it. She wanted to avoid that place.

Elda began the descent down the mountain, a much easier walk than climbing up. Rocks slid out from under her small feel and threatened to topple her a few times, but she stuck closely to the wall and soon felt earth beneath her toes rather than slate rock. She glanced back at the cavern for a moment before heading on. The sun was hot on her back, and sweat trickled down to sting her eyes. The heat baked her skin a light pink. She tried to stay beneath the trees if only to save her pale complexion.

The forest was much cooler in the dense parts if a little rocky and vine-infested. She hopped over obstacles and send out the pulsating feel of her magic to ward off animals as she approached. The sound or brushing warning wouldn't work on dangerous cats or whatever else might be lurking in the forest. She was partially just doing it to experience and remember the slight exertion of her will, the old bodiless gestures that she learned as a child. It was bliss to stretch her mind, to feel a drain or tug on her mana. She had missed using her magic. Being without it left her rather helpless and rather ordinary.

As the sweat poured from her temple and the sun slowly shifted across the sky, she made good headway. Once she stopped to cut her palm again, breaking through the old scab that was already healing, and took a look at Zevran. He was pacing in some sort of hospital where the flies gathered around putrescent wounds and people moaned in agony. Arcelle was lying prostrate on a small cot as an elven woman dabbed lightly at her forehead. There must have been infection. Who knew how long that trap had been there or what kind of poison it might be covered in?

Eventually the forest grew cold, the shadows less friendly. Birds gave hearty whoops and animals hunkered in low bushes growled as she passed by. She put a hand on her belly and erected a bubbling shield of mana around herself to ward off predators. It wouldn't hold much under melee combat, but it could deflect arrows so she could get to cover. Not that she was expecting to get hit by an arrow in the middle of a forest. She laughed softly to herself at the realization that she just put it up to make herself feel better. Being with Zevran had made her soft again. In the wilderness, she would have been prepared to beat a pack of wolves' heads in with a rock.

When the last bit of red bled from the horizon and she was cast in violet and blue shadows, she broke through the woods. Fires were lit out in front of the inn, various groups of armed individuals huddling around them. An elf on a bench glanced up at her from under his bushy hair and snorted, elbowing his counterpart. She let her shield dissipate—Zevran never explained the mage situation in Antiva, but she expected they weren't any more welcome than in Ferelden.

She'd lost her pack when Chorise had kidnapped her in a flurry of spells and fallen leaves. She had no Antivan money anyway, and it didn't hit her until just then how dependent she would be on Zevran in the coming months. She spoke only a few broken Antivan sentences. How would she communicate? How would she pay for food and shelter if he wasn't at her side? Going to a foreign country to make things easier, she decided, was a poor plan in the first place. She hurried past the mob in front of the inn and walked inside.

The crooked building stank of ale and vomit, a common smell in any tavern in the world. Whatever part of Thedas she was in, at least that never changed. She walked up to the bar and set her head down on the wood, tucking a bit of hair behind her pointed ear. The earliest parts of pregnancy were beginning to set in. She felt fatigued and slightly nauseated despite the dwarf's revolting medicine that seemed to have worked for a few days at least. She also worried for the baby. What had that old witch's magic done to Rinna? Would it harm her irreparably? Would she even be the same little girl that Elda knew?

No, that was silly. This time she would grow up with a kind father in a healthy home. She wouldn't have to worry about going to bed with an empty stomach while curled up to her bloodmage mother that cried and thrashed in her sleep. Elda wouldn't have to scramble to her feet in the morning worrying about animals dragging Rinna off in the night. There would be no more cold, because Zevran would be there to keep her warm. It sounded too perfect, all of it. Yet she believed that Zevran could make it possible. After all, she underestimated him almost every time.

A hand nudged her. She glanced up to see the human bartender glancing down at her with concern. "You all right, love?" she asked in a thickly accented voice. It was the same inn that they'd stayed in the night before, so naturally the woman knew she was from Ferelden. "You look a little, um, sick? That is the word, yes?"

"I'm fine," she smiled tightly at the woman and put her head back down.

"Should watch out for yourself," the young bartender clicked her tongue, swiping an oiled rag over the fine wooden bar. "Are you hungry?"

"I haven't any coin to pay you," Elda said, sitting up completely. The woman's hair was a bright blonde, and it fell thin and wavy around her face. Her eyes were too close together and too large, giving her an almost startled look. Her lips were thin, mouth small.

The woman narrowed her eyes and glanced around. "But where is your husband?" she asked in a low voice, finger touching the ring on Elda's hand.

"We were separated," she explained.

"You should find him," the human answered, shaking her head pityingly. "Not safe for a woman in your condition to be out here alone. Not with what is going on outside."

Elda's ears pricked up. She leaned forward. "What is going on outside?"

A delicate eyebrow curled upward. "You did not see?" she muttered something in Antivan, bracing her palm against the bar. "You are Ferelden, but you must know of the Antivan Crows, yes?" Her voice was low.

"Yes."

"They have been, uh, on the move? Yes, that is it," the bartender scrunched up her rag and left it on the bar. "Politics are heavily influenced by the Crows in this place, and they were upset to learn something. So they will be getting rid of lesser contracts quickly to focus on this new thing they must face. Everyone is crowding outside to stay in the company of others. What they do not understand is that the Crows do not mind killing you in front of your family." Elda shook her head. A coincidence, surely; it couldn't possibly be because they had arrived in Antiva. Zevran was not, as she had proved so long ago, the best assassin around, despite how much he'd improved over the years.

"Does this happen often?" the elf asked.

"No, not often," the Antivan replied. "A strange thing indeed. Something…it must have frightened them. The last time this happened was when that bastard began assassinating his way through the royal family about ten years ago." She shrugged. "Our leaders were dying, and it was an emergency then. Now? We do not know what to think."

Elda didn't know what this meant, but she felt the undeniable urge to share with Zevran immediately. He knew more of Crow politics than she did, having been one of them himself. Her knowledge lay within the Fade, the arcane. This was his country, his area of expertise. The dirty clinic flashed before her mind suddenly, and she curled her fingers on top of the wood, feeling the crusted blood on her palm. "Do you know where the nearest hospital is?"

The woman's eyes widened. "Why? Do you need help?" Her eyes flew to the hard bulge of Elda's stomach.

"No, my…my husband is there," she explained.

"Oh," the human's relief was tangible. "Around the corner a few blocks, there is a small clinic. I do not know if it runs this late. It is a dirty place, filled with injured criminals with hardly any coin. You should not go alone." The warning was clear, but the fear in her eyes told Elda that she would not try to stop her.

Elda smiled and pushed away from the bar. "Thank you," she said and started toward the door. There was hardly anyone inside the inn, and she wondered faintly why that was. All of them seemed to be congregating outside. Did they fear to be caged inside rooms? Certainly the Crows couldn't have contracts out on the common folk of Antiva. What would that achieve?

A beggar accosted Elda outside the door, but she pushed the grubby hands away. She didn't have coin or time to spare. She started toward the direction of the clinic with quick steps, staying to the shadows as best as she could. There only seemed to be a few guards to protect the citizens of the city. That was dangerous. Elda could handle herself. Even slowed by her pregnancy, she was quick with a blade and even quicker with her magic. The poor and untrained would suffer from the guard negligence.

Ducking down several alleys to get there, she soon caught the scent of preservatives and antiseptic. The stench of rot and decay came later as she encountered the ragged lot waiting outside the doors. The bartender hadn't exaggerated. Most of them were covered in a fine layer of dirt that came with living on the street. They reeked of blood and unwashed bodies and burned skin, mostly elderly men, a few lingering children, a few women bundled in greasy rags. Elda stepped gingerly around and away from them, picking up her pace when a woman with a suppurating hole in the side of her neck began to eye her funnily.

Maybe it was growing up sheltered in the tower, but she never did care for the sight of the poor. The clinic was clearly understaffed, some of the patients most definitely dead, the others sallow, yellow, and coughing heartily with sickness. Elda covered her mouth with one hand and headed back toward the room where she had seen Zevran. When she pushed away the curtain, though, only Arcelle was there. The dwarven gangster's eyes started open in surprise, and she tried to sit up. With a hiss and a curse, she fell back to the pillows.

Elda raced to her side. "Arcelle, what happened?"

"What happened?" the dwarf demanded. "What happened to you? Zevran was going insane without you." Arcelle's face was covered in a fine sheen of sweat. She seemed tired and feverish. Her hand was too hot, skin slipping easily in Elda's soft grip. The mage pressed a few fingertips to Arcelle's forehead and grimaced. The fever was high.

"I was…otherwise engaged. How did you get back? How is your leg?" She glanced around for sink but found only a bucket of water beside the bed. At least the clinic was doing something. She grabbed it and began wiping off Arcelle's face in slow, caressing motions.

"After the attack," Arcelle swallowed, "Zevran tried to bandage my wound, but it was too deep. I was going to bleed out. Something kept attacking him, too. He was thrown against the tree a few times. He's got a nasty bruise on the back of his head. Maybe he might have even cracked it. I don't know. He wouldn't let the doctors look at it. We waited for you as long as we could, but I was getting dizzy and fell asleep. When I woke up, I was here. We've been waiting outside most of the day. The wound's festered, and they're talking about…about cutting it off."

Elda glanced at the filthy bandage. The pus leaking out was a poisonous green, and it reeked of rotting flesh and decay. The sun was not best for wounds, she knew, and the sun in Antiva was hot. The flesh surrounding the stained bandage was purple and bruised, nearly black. Cutting it off would probably be the only course left. "You should have left sooner," she criticized, placing the rag back into the bucket and shifting her attention to the leg. She gingerly removed the medical bindings and inspected the injury. The arrow had hit deep, meant to maim and mangle rather than kill. The flesh was very dark and dying if not dead. Elda put the bandages back, her heart heavy.

"Can you help?" Arcelle asked hopefully. Elda started mopping her shining face again.

"I'm afraid not," she said sincerely. "My hands were meant for killing not healing. But you can help me. Where is Zevran?"

The dwarf smacked her head on the pillow and curled her fist. "He ran off. He was pacing back and forth, worrying about you. So I sent him away. He's been gone for hours."

"Do you know where he might have gone?" Elda asked.

"He's your husband," the dwarf bit out. "I haven't seen him in years. You'd know better than I would." Elda frowned.

"You've been with him this entire time. He didn't give you any indication whatsoever of his destination?" She found it hard to believe. Besides, a woman that survived in the undercity had to know how to find out what she wanted by body language.

"He was probably going to look for you," Arcelle said simply. "Isn't that what you'd expect him to do?"

"Yes, but where?" she asked more to herself than anyone else. This Zevran she found puzzling. Looking back over the years he didn't remember, hadn't beena part of, was difficult. The mature, older Zevran had become familiar to her. This one was different. This one she could not predict entirely. Impetuous, confident, and arrogant. Hardly sporadic in his decisions but not reliant on strategy from what she could remember.

Arcelle began to cough, and Elda glanced at her pityingly. The more she sat there, the longer the leg would fester and putrefy. Someone needed to clean it and preferably remove the damaged tissue. Elda sighed and frowned at the leg. She recalled very little of her surgical training. She could numb it and cut, but she could do more damage than harm. After a moment, she decided just to leave it. Let the healers help her. After all, she was made to kill.

Elda put her hand on Arcelle's and squeezed. "I'm sorry, my friend, but it seems this is where we part ways."

Arcelle scoffed. "Did you think I expected you to stay? Zevran didn't. You've got a future, the two of you. Bunch of idiots that overestimate what they're capable of, but you've survived this long." She gave a racking cough. "Go, then."

"I'll honor our deal," Elda promised. "I'll strike your name from the Crows. And I'll tell the doctors to hurry."

"Don't do me any favors," the dwarf snapped half-heartedly. There was relief and gratitude in her eyes. Elda felt a sudden kinship with the woman. Turning away, she lifted the curtain and left in a rush. She could easily find Zevran with her locating tool: blood magic. She was wary, however, of using it so much in one day. She'd never done that before, and she wasn't aware of what her limitations would be now.

On the way out, she drew special attention to Arcelle's tent and watched the doctor nod in concern before she left. In a back alley beside the whores plying their trade and the sleeping homeless elves curled near a pile of refuse, she sliced her thumb on a loose pipe and dropped to the ground. The blood dripped over the packed dirt, summoning the mana silently, and she looked into her magical mirror.

He was there, sitting in their room and twirling his knife in a familiar gesture of agitation. He sank his pointed elven teeth into an apple and chewed as he regarded a map spread out on the table. What was he planning? She squinted into the darkness. A fire crackled behind him, burning brightly and lighting the room with a liquid orange glow. His short hair was mussed, sticking up in all directions. He seemed to have been pacing for a long while.

Quickly, she closed the connection. Whatever Antiva's feelings on mages, she didn't want to attract attention. A pregnant woman kneeling in an alley full of the less fortunate was strange enough. She didn't need to be calling up visual portals as well. Elda stood and rushed out of the alley in the direction of the inn. Once she was safe in Zevran's arms again, they could make their move to take out the crows. With that solved, she could work on the problem with Ikilail. Soon, she hoped, everything would be resolved.

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**The two stories have been combined. The other has been deleted. Thanks for reading. I'll update again.**


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